To court thy beauty with lascivious rhymes;
I cannot dally, caper, dance, and sing,
Oiling my saint with supple sonneting;
I cannot cross my arms, or sigh "Ay me,
Ay me, forlorn!" egregious foppery!
I cannot buss thy fist,[571] play with thy hair,
Swearing by Jove, "thou art most debonair!"
Not I, by cock! but [I] shall tell thee roundly,—
Hark in thine ear,—zounds, I can (——) thee soundly.
Sweet wench, I love thee: yet I will not sue,