I
[Loue is a prettie Frencie]
[1]
Loue is a prettie Frencie,
A melancholy fire,
Begot by lookes, maintain'd with hopes,
And bey th'end by desire.
2
Loue is a pretie Tyrant,
By our affections armed,
Take them away, none liues this day,
The Coward boy hath harmed.
3
Loue is a pretie Idole,
Opinion did deuise him,
His votaries is slouth and lies,
The Robes that doe disguise him.
4
Loue is a pretie Painter,
And counterfeiteth passion,
His shadow'd lies, makes fansies rise,
To set beliefe in fashion.
5
Loue is a pretie Pedler,
Whose Packe is fraught with sorrowes,
With doubts with feares, with sighs with teares,
Some ioyes, but those he borrowes.
6
Loue is a pretie nothing,
Yet what a quoile it keepes,
With thousand eyes of iealousies,
Yet no one euer sleepes.