A Blackmoor Maid wooing a fair Boy:
sent to the Author by Mr. Hen. Rainolds.

Stay, lovely boy, why fly'st thou me

That languish in these flames for thee?

I'm black, 'tis true: why so is Night,

And Love doth in dark shades delight.

The whole world, do but close thine eye,

Will seem to thee as black as I;

Or ope 't, and see what a black shade

Is by thine own fair body made,