Nicholas Breton

A Sweet Contention between Love, his Mistress, and Beauty

Love and my mistress were at strife
  Who had the greatest power on me:
Betwixt them both, oh, what a life!
  Nay, what a death is this to be!

She said, she did it with her eye;
  He said, he did it with his dart;
Betwixt them both (a silly wretch!)
  'Tis I that have the wounded heart.

She said, she only spake the word
  That did enchant my peering sense;
He said, he only gave the sound
  That enter'd heart without defence.

She said, her beauty was the mark
  That did amaze the highest mind;
He said, he only made the mist
  Whereby the senses grew so blind.

She said, that only for her sake,
  The best would venture life and limb:
He said, she was too much deceiv'd;
  They honour'd her because of him.

Long while, alas, she would not yield,
  But it was she that rul'd the roost;
Until by proof, she did confess,
  If he were gone, her joy was lost.

And then she cried, "Oh, dainty love,
  I now do find it is for thee,
That I am lov'd and honour'd both,
  And thou hast power to conquer me."

But, when I heard her yield to love,
  Oh! how my heart did leap for joy!
That now I had some little hope
  To have an end to mine annoy!

But, as too soon, before the field
  The trumpets sound the overthrow,
So all too soon I joy'd too much,
  For I awaked, and nothing saw.