p.
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Littell thinkst thou poore hart, That labourst here to nestle thee, And thinkst by houring here to gett a part In a forbidden, or forbiddinge tree And hopst her stiffenes by long siege to bow; Littell thinkst thou That thou to morrow, ere that sun doth wake Must with this sun and mee a iourney take But thou which loust to bee Subtile to plague thy selfe, wilt saie, Alas if yow mvst goe, whats that to mee? Here lyes my businesse, and here I will staie; Yow goe to freindes, whose loues, and meanes present Various content To your eyes, eares, and tounge, and euerie part. If then your boddie goe, what neede yow a Hart? Weele then staie here; but knowe When thou hast staied and done thy most A naked thinking hart, that makes no showe Is to a woman, but a kynde of Ghost How shall shee knowe my hart, or hauing none Knowe thee for one Practise may make her knowe some other part, But take my word, shee doth not knowe a Hart.[CW: Meere] |
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