THOMAS LODGE
Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,
And sleeps within their pretty bhinc; And if I look the boy will lower,
And from their orbs shoot shafts divine. Love works thy heart within his fire,
And in my tears doth firm the same; And if I tempt it will retire,
And of my plaints doth make a game. Love, let me cull her choicest flowers;
And pity me, and calm her eye; Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers
Then will I praise thy deity. But if thou do not, Love, 1*11 truly serve her In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.
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��1 10 Rosaline
"IKE to the clear in highest sphere Where all imperial glory shines, Of selfsame colour is her hair Whether unfolded or in twines.
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline' Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Resembling heaven by every wink; The gods do fear whenas they glow, And I do tremble when I think
Heigh ho, would bhe were mine' Her cheekb are like the blushing cloud
That beautifies Aurora's face, Or like the silver crimson shroud
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace. Heigh ho, fair Rosaline?
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