XIX.
THat ivory hand, a fan most white doth hold; And to the milky breast blows wind apace; And yet is full of chilly ice most cold; Disgrace to others, to herself a grace. But I, who wistly mark these whiteness' three, Vouchsafe, sweet Love, this boon to grant to me! Distil within the rolling of mine eyes, By virtue of thy power, such hidden flame; And let it tempered be, in such strange wise, That, as I cast my look upon the same, It quite may take away her cruelty! Melt straight the ice! and fan burn suddenly!
XX.
THe snakes, amongst themselves, so carefully Love one another, wonder for to see! As if th' one want, the other straight doth die. Lady, unto these snakes unlike we be! For if I die, thou diest not for my death; But, through my pain revivest! Such is thy spite! And pleasure tak'st to see me void of breath. Ah, yet in love let 's unto them be like! Thou Cupid, work! that I, poor snake in love, This 'sdainful snake for to be kind may move.