 | The Works of Michael Drayton |  |
114
AMOUR. 31.
Sitting alone, love bids me goe and write,
Reason plucks backe, commaunding me to stay,
Boasting that shee doth still direct the way,
Els senceles love could never once endite.
Reason plucks backe, commaunding me to stay,
Boasting that shee doth still direct the way,
Els senceles love could never once endite.
Love growing angry, vexed at the spleene,
And scorning Reasons maymed Argument,
Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to invent,
Where shee with Love conversing hath not beene.
And scorning Reasons maymed Argument,
Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to invent,
Where shee with Love conversing hath not beene.
Reason reproched with this coy disdaine,
Dispighteth Love, and laugheth at her folly,
And Love contemning Reasons reason wholy,
Thought her in weight too light by many a graine.
Reason put back, doth out of sight remove,
And Love alone finds reason in my love.
Dispighteth Love, and laugheth at her folly,
And Love contemning Reasons reason wholy,
Thought her in weight too light by many a graine.
Reason put back, doth out of sight remove,
And Love alone finds reason in my love.
| The Works of Michael Drayton | |