Two fronting hills bedect with flowers, they chose to be each others seate: And there they stole theyr amorous houres, with sighes and teares, poore louers meate,(10) Fond Loue that feed’st thy seruants so.
Faire freend, quoth he, when shall I liue, That am halfe dead, yet cannot die? Can beautie such sharpe guerdon giue, to him whose life hangs in your eye? (15) Beautie is milde, and will not kill.
Sweet Swaine, quoth shee, accuse not mee, that long haue been thy humble thrall:But blame the angry destinie, whose kinde consent might finish all, (20) Vngentle Fate, to crosse true loue.
Quoth hee, let not our Parents hate, disioyne what heauen hath linckt in one: They may repent, and all too late if chyldlesse they be left alone. (25) Father nor freend, should wrong true loue.
The Parents frowne, said shee, is death, to children that are held in awe: From them we drew our vitall breath, they challenge dutie then by law, (30) Such dutie as kills not true loue.