 | Englands Helicon |  |
Rosalindes Madrigall.
Loue in my bosome like a Bee,
dooth suck his sweete:
Now with his wings he playes with me,
now with his feete.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender brest,
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.
Ah wanton will ye?
dooth suck his sweete:
Now with his wings he playes with me,
now with his feete.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender brest,
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.
Ah wanton will ye?
And if I sleepe, then pierceth he,
with prettie slight:
And makes his pillow of my knee,
the liue-long night.
Strike I my Lute, he tunes the string,
He musique playes if I but sing,
He lends me euery louely thing,
Yet cruell he my hart dooth sting.
Whist wanton, still ye.
with prettie slight:
And makes his pillow of my knee,
the liue-long night.
Strike I my Lute, he tunes the string,
He lends me euery louely thing,
Yet cruell he my hart dooth sting.
Whist wanton, still ye.
Life I with Roses euery day
will whip ye hence:
And binde ye when ye long to play,
for your offence.
Ile shut mine eyes to keepe ye in,
Ile make you fast it for your sinne,
Ile count your power not woorth a pin.
Alas, what heereby shall I winne
If he gaine-say me?
will whip ye hence:
And binde ye when ye long to play,
for your offence.
Ile shut mine eyes to keepe ye in,
Ile make you fast it for your sinne,
Ile count your power not woorth a pin.
Alas, what heereby shall I winne
If he gaine-say me?
What if I beate the wanton boy
with many a rod?
He will repay me with annoy,
because a God.
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosome be:
Lurke in mine eyes, I like of thee.
O Cupid, so thou pitty me,
Spare not, but play thee.
with many a rod?
He will repay me with annoy,
because a God.
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosome be:
Lurke in mine eyes, I like of thee.
O Cupid, so thou pitty me,
Spare not, but play thee.
FINIS.
Thom. Lodge.
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