Thus, while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake;
So sleeps my love--and yet my love doth wake.
But, oh! the fury of my restless fear,
The hidden anguish of my chaste desires;
The glories and the beauties that appear
Between her brows, near Cupid's closed fires!
Sleep, dainty love, while I sigh for thy sake;
So sleeps my love,--and yet my love doth wake."
P.335. "_For I did but kisse her_."--Mr. Ebsworth kindly informs me that
these words are from a song (No. 19) in _The First Booke of Songs and
Ayres_ (1601?) composed by Robert Jones. The song runs:--
"My Mistris sings no other song
But stil complains I did her wrong.
Beleeue her not, it was not so,
I did but kiss her and let her go.
And now she sweares I did, but what,
Nay, nay, I must not tell you that:
And yet I will, it is so sweete,
As teehee tahha when louers meet.
But womens words they are heedlesse,
To tell you more it is needlesse:
I ranne and caught her by the arme
And then I kist her, this was no harme.
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