Love's a Lovely Lad

Love's a lovely lad,
His bringing-up is beauty;
Who loves him not is mad,
For I must pay him duty;
Now I'm sad.

Hail to those sweet eyes,
That shine celestial wonder!

From thence do flames arise,
Burn my poor heart asunder.
Now it fries.

Cupid sets a crown
Upon those lovely tresses;
O, spoil not with a frown
What he so sweetly dresses!
I'll sit down.