And seven times shook her head with thick locks garnished.
The other smiled (I wot), with wanton eyes:
Err I, or myrtle in her right hand lies?
"With lofty words stout Tragedy," she said,
"Why tread'st me down? art thou aye gravely play'd?
Thou deign'st unequal lines should thee rehearse;
Thou fight'st against me using mine own verse.
Thy lofty style with mine I not compare,
Small doors unfitting for large houses are.40
Light am I, and with me, my care, light Love;