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(15) He musique playes if I but sing, He lends me euery louely thing, Yet cruell he my hart dooth sting. Whist. wanton, still ye
Else I with Roses euery day (20) will whip ye hence: And binde ye when ye long to play, for your offence. Ile shut mine eyes to keepe ye in, Ile make you fast it for your sinne, (25) Ile count your power not woorth a pin. Alas, what heereby shall I winne If he gaine-say me?
What if I beate the wanton boy with many a rod? (30) He will repay me with annoy,because a God. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosome be: Lurke in mine eyes, I like of thee. (35) O Cupid, so thou pitty me, Spare not, but play thee.

FINIS. Thom. Lodge.

¶ A Dialogue Song betweene Syluanus and Arsilius. +

Syl. S Heepheard, why doo’st thou hold thy peace? Sing, and thy ioy to vs report:
Arsil. My ioy good Sheepheard) should be lesse, If it were told in any sort.
Syl. (5) Though such great fauours thou doo’st winne, Yet daigne thereof to tell some part:
Arsil. The hardest thing is to begin, In enterprizes of such Art.