To a Lady that desired I would love her.

NOw you have freely given me leave to love,
What will you doe?
Shall I your mirth, or pastime move
When I begin 'to wooe;
Will you torment, or scorne, or love me too?

Each pettie beautie can disdaine, and I
Spight of your hate
Without your leave can see, and dye;
Dispence a nobler Fate,
'Tis easie to destroy, you may create.

Then give me leave to love, and love me too
Not with designe
To rayse, as Loves curst Rebells doe;
When puling Poets whine,
Fame to their beautie, from their blubbt'd eyne.

Griefe is a puddle, and reflects not cleare
Your beauties rayes,
Joyes are pure streames, your eyes appeare
Sullen in sadder layes,
In chearfull numbers they shine bright with prayse.

Which shall not mention to expresse you fayre
Wounds, flames, and darts,
Stormes in your brow, nets in your haire,
Suborning all your parts,
Or to betray, or torture captive hearts.

I'le make your eyes like morning Suns appeare,
As milde, and faire
Your brow as Crystall smooth, and cleare,
And your dishevell'd hayre
Shall flow like a calme Region of the Ayre.

Rich Natures store, (which is the Poets Treasure)
I'le spend, to dresse
Your beauties, if your mine of Pleasure
In equall thankfulnesse
You but unlocke, so we each otherblesse.