I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, And that's a feeling disputation.
The arms are fair, When the intent of bearing them is just.
His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.
While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.
Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk!
In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.