Laura. The Toyes of a Traveller. Or. The Feast of Fancie - Part 3, 27
Love this faire Lasse (said Love) once unto mee,
I lov'd her; love her now (saith he) no more,
When thousand darts within my brest there bee,
And if I love her, he mee threatneth sore:
He saith himselfe is falne in love with her,
And that himselfe fore others hee'l prefer.
His sense is this, He in her beauteous eyes,
Hath found such Amours as nere like were seene:
But thinkes he this shall serve, in cunning wise
To make mee leave, he cousning me so cleene?
In spite of him Ile love, sith hart doth gree
With Love in love, as Rivall for to bee.
I lov'd her; love her now (saith he) no more,
When thousand darts within my brest there bee,
And if I love her, he mee threatneth sore:
He saith himselfe is falne in love with her,
And that himselfe fore others hee'l prefer.
His sense is this, He in her beauteous eyes,
Hath found such Amours as nere like were seene:
But thinkes he this shall serve, in cunning wise
To make mee leave, he cousning me so cleene?
In spite of him Ile love, sith hart doth gree
With Love in love, as Rivall for to bee.
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