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To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest,

Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,

Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

‘Thus he that over-ruled I overswayed,

Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain.

Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obeyed,

Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.

O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,

For mast’ring her that foiled the god of fight.

‘Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine–

Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red–

The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.

What seest thou in the ground? Hold up thy head.

Look in mine eyeballs: there thy beauty lies.

Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?

‘Art thou ashamed to kiss? Then wink again,

And I will wink. So shall the day seem night.

Love keeps his revels where there are but twain.

Be bold to play–our sport is not in sight.

These blue-veined violets whereon we lean

Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

‘The tender spring upon thy tempting lip

Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted.

Make use of time; let not advantage slip.

Beauty within itself should not be wasted.

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