Fond Love why dost thou dally:
OR,
The passionate Lovers Ditty,
In praise of his Love thats faire and witty.
To the tune of The mocke Widdow.
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FOnd Love why dost thou dally,
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And mocke my passions with thy disdaine?
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there is no blisse,
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where coynesse is,
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Seeke not thy pleasure in my paine:
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But let the chast torments of my desire,
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Kindle in thee propitious fire:
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So shall the pleasures of thy sweet imbraces,
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Conquer the griefe of my former disgraces,
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Then those stormes past, shall mercie appeare,
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And thou of cruelty goe quit and cleare.
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If not, thou art accused,
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For being a lure of my griefe and care,
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for from thy sight,
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comes my delight,
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Thy frowne onely procures despaire:
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But in thy smiles there dwell eternall joyes,
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Which from my heart all flouds of woes destroies,
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Then be not thou obdurate unto me,
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Seeing thou art my chiefe felicity:
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Thou seest how passionate I am for thee,
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O then grant Love, forgetting cruelty.
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Sweet Jove thou art my goddesse
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To whom my heart I soly dedicate,
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then mercie send,
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to me thy friend,
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My sad griefe to abreviate:
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Then shall I praise thy goodly tresses,
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Shining like gold as all the Gods confesses,
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And eke the splendor of thy comely face,
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Which doth so well thy compleat body grace,
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As thou appearst like Cynthia in her spheare,
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Or like Apollo in the dayes bright chaire.
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Never was framd by nature,
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A Mayd of rarer forme and beauty
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then is my Love,
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to whom Ile prove,
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Officious in my duty,
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Her breath more sweeter farre then Civet can be,
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Delicious honey, or rare Sugar-Candy,
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Her rosie Cheekes most comely to the view,
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Which causeth me her Love for to pursue,
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And for Lorina languish I in griefe,
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For from her smiles my pleasures come in briefe.
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Come sweet sit thee downe by me,
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And pay just tribute for our true love,
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come lets court,
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and merrily sport,
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Here is the pleasant shady grove,
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Where nothing is wanting that pleasures may bring,
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Where natures harmonious Musicioners sing,
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And Philomel amongst them the sweetest,
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To love recording those notes that are meetest,
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Where soft winds murmure the joy of our blisse,
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And glyding by thy lips, oft steale a kisse.
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Heare the nimble Faunes caper,
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And old Silvanus traine doth trip and dance,
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thy forme to grace,
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in this faire place,
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Woods Nymphs doe their notes advance,
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Here all pleasure and content doth dwell,
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Joy doth all sorrow from this place expell,
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O I could surfet with this goodly sight,
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Wherein my heart and senses take delight,
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Thou art the Soveraigne of my love-sicke mind,
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In whom a Map of vertues are inshrind.
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The second part To the same tune.
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O How I am astonisht,
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To view the feature of my true love,
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thy sweet face,
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and comely grace,
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Would in an Angel envy move,
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Thy eyes give luster these shadowes ore-spread,
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And thy sweet language would waken the dead,
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The musicke of the spheares is but a dull noise
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When we shall heare thee, in thy sweetest voyce,
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Curious wonders within thee doe shine,
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Which doe perswade me that thou art divine.
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Juno the Queene of glory,
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Cannot come neare thee for thy vertuous grace:
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thou art more faire,
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in beauty rare,
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And dost deserve as well that place,
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Wherein Joves darling in her glory moves,
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Thy hands farre whiter then faire Venus Doves,
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And thou thy selfe compleat in each degree,
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Upon thy forehead dwels rare Majestie:
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Thou art indeed a lampe of heavenly wonder,
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And for thy vertues keepst all creatures under.
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All earthly joyes and pleasures
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Are to be had in thy society,
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Lorinas name,
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deserves true fame,
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She is indued with pietie,
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Fairer she is by ods then rocks of pearle:
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Jove till this time nere saw a braver Girle.
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The Phenix rare makes not a gayer show,
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Nor yet the Lillies on the banke of Poe,
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She is indeed the mirror of our age,
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And with Joves Queene may walke in equipage.
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Wherefore should I dally then,
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To court this glory, and to imbrace,
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even in thee,
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all blisse I see,
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Lively depainted in thy face,
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Come then lets dally, and to the wanton ayre,
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Change loves delightments, so shall we declare
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Our loves by our kisses, whilst I nothing fearing
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Breath my best wish, in my wisht beauties hearin[g]
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Which when I have done thy captive Ile be,
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Yet thinke I have a glorious liberty.
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Come then, come my Lorina,
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And yeeld that treasure, which who so knowes,
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knowes a blisse,
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by which he is
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Eternally exempt from woes,
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Should Jove himselfe envy at our best delight,
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These joyes weele enjoy still in envies despight:
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Nay should his anger descend so upon me,
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As my Lorina to ravish thee from me,
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Ide flye in my fury as high as his spheare,
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And snatch thee from his armes or perish there.
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Come then let me enjoy thee,
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Whilst beauties florish on thee doth dwell,
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Colour fades,
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and foolish Mayds,
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That so dye lead Apes in hell,
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O then be wiser and grant to my desire,
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In thy snow white bosome quench my loves quic[k] fi[re]
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Let not unfaigned love goe unrewarded,
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Nor true affections be sleightly regarded,
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So shall I still live, and all sorrowes defie,
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Or else a Martyre to thy beauty dye.
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