Ile giue thee, for to keep thee from the weather;
With Phœnix feathers shall thy Face be fand,
Cooling those Cheekes, that being cool'd wexe red,
Like Lillyes in a bed of Roses shed.
Why doo thy Corall lips disdaine to kisse,
And sucke that Sweete, which manie haue desired?
That Baulme my Bane, that meanes would mend my misse:
Oh let me then with thy sweete Lips b'inspired;
When thy Lips touch my Lips, my Lips will turne