LIV.
Because I breathe not love to every one,
Nor do not use set colours for to wear,
Nor nourish special locks of vowèd hair,
Nor give each speech a full point of a groan.
The courtly nymphs, acquainted with the moan
Of them who in their lips, LOVE'S standard bear:
"What he!" say they of me, "now I dare swear
He cannot love. No, no, let him alone!"
And think so still! so STELLA know my mind.
Profess indeed I do not CUPID'S art:
But you, fair maids! at length, this true shall find,
That his right badge is but worn in the heart.
Dumb swans not chattering pies, do lovers prove.
They love indeed who quake to say they love.
LV.
Muses! I oft invoked your holy aid,
With choicest flowers my speech t'engarland so,
That it, despised in true but naked show,
Might win some grace in your sweet grace arrayed.
And oft whole troops of saddest words I stayed,
Striving abroad a foraging to go;
Until by your inspiring, I might know
How their black banner might be best displayed.
And now I mean no more your help to try,
Nor other sugaring of my speech to prove;
But on her name incessantly to cry.
For let me but name her whom I do love,
So sweet sounds straight mine ear and heart do hit,
That I well find no eloquence like it.
