Thomas Lodge

Sonnets to Phillis. 13

      Love guides the roses of thy lips,
    And flies about them like a bee;
    If I approach he forward skips,
    And if I kiss he stingeth me.
      Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,
    And sleeps within their pretty shine;
    And if I look the boy will lower,
    And from their orbs shoots shafts divine.
      Love works thy heart within his fire,
    And in my tears doth firm the same;
    And if I tempt it will retire,
    And of my plaints doth make a game.
      Love, let me cull her choicest flowers,
    And pity me, and calm her eye,
    Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers,
    Then will I praise thy deity.
      But if thou do not love, I'll truly serve her
      In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.