And conquered serue your Deitie, (10) Will you alas commaund me die? Then die I yours, and death my crosse, But vnto you pertains the losse.
T. L. Gent.
M Y bonie Lasse thine eie, +So slie, Hath made me sorrowe so: Thy Crimsen cheekes my deere, (5) So cleere, Haue so much wrought my woe.
Thy pleasing smiles and grace, Thy face, Haue rauisht so my sprights: (10) That life is growne to nought, Through thought, Of Loue which me affrights.
For fancies flames of fire, Aspire, (15) Vnto such furious powre: As but the teares I shead, Make dead, The brands would me deuoure.
I should consume to nought, (20) Through thought, Of thy faire shining eie: Thy cheekes, thy pleasing smiles, The wiles, That forst my hart to die.
(25) Thy grace, thy face, the part, Where art,