Love's Dialect :: :: University of Virginia Library

Adver.
Fayre Contra, in the bosome of yon shade
Remaynes a soft repose, by nature made
To give your beauty welcome, tis a Bower
Solicited by every fragrant Flower
Nurs'd in this Rosy Province, shall I crave
I may conduct you to it, (sweete) I have
A gentle story to reveale, so deare
Vnto my selfe, that none but your chast eare
May heare the petty volume, be but pleas'd
To fit and heare and my desire is eas'd.

Contra.

You will not kill my patience or betray
My eares to some loose fancy, from what Play
Have you traduc'd your story? is it new,
Decently delectable, strange and true?
What title hath your story? may it be
Heard without teares? comes it off merily?

Tis cald a Game at Hearts, both strange and new;
The losers win if both the hearts play true.

This is a riddle sure, some fine defeate,
You have compos'd to give my wit the cheate.

There is a man—thats I—his heart doth vow
Vnto a vertuous Lady—that is you.
Be not offended fayrest, this is all
The story I can tell or ever shall,
I love you; love you dearely, in your eye
Lives my devotion, theres a deity
So powerfull, that is calls my early eyes
From practick Prayer to give it sacrifice.
I love you chastly, my divine desire
Aymes but at honord marriage, all the fire
Love (the great king of passions) did create
Within my brest, is as immaculate,
Temprate and pure as the bright flame that flyes
In zeale from an accepted sacrifice.

Is this your stories end? is your game don?
Where be your losing winners? who hath won?

The heart that never play'd, play then and be
A double winner, ile lose all to thee.

Indeede I cannot love, or if I doe,
Credit me Sir, I cannot fancy you,
You are to full of passion, if you can
Exile it from you and turne merry man,
You may obtaine my favour, but if not
Your game is done, your story quite forgot.

Adver.
Oh the blind curse of lovers it doth make
Man become Idiot for his mistresse sake,
But I disdaine the taske and let you know
(Your superficiall fayre-one) that I bow
No to the feature of your femall kind,
But to a brest enrich'd with a faire minde;
If yours be so, I love you, but if not,
My love (like to my story) is forgot:
Must I become a Zane, laugh and toy,
Your ever-losing favour to enjoy;
Doth your wise Ladiship conceit it fit,
I should implore the vertue of your wit
With idle mirth, reserv'd for wanton guests,
Or must I plead my marriage love in jests?
Tis a severe conjunction that doth tye
Two soules in one unto eternity,
And requires serious wisedome, such as may
Keepe the knot tyed more then the marriage day;
Perhaps you are engag'd, your heart doth dwell
Within anothers, love him then—farewell.

Contra Sola.
Thus Virgins sport away their loves, thus I
Have at one blast lost more felicity
Then many Queenes can boast, some pittying fate
Contrive a meanes I may be fortunate
In his lov'd love agen, Oh be so kind
To render me the object of his minde;
If your strickt Canons this request deny,
And that your sentence tells me I must dye
For my transgression, I no mourners crave,
But let some Zane laugh me to my grave;

No Epitaph be writ nor yet a stone
With this Inscription, Heere lies buried One,
Lest my lost Love should come, and when he spies
My Sepulcher with pitty lose his eyes.