So Quick, so Hot, so Mad is thy Fond Suit

So quick, so hot, so mad is thy fond suit, So rude, so tedious grown, in urging

me,

That fain I would, with loss, make thy tongue mute,

And yield some little grace to quiet thee:

An hour with thee I care not to converse, For I would not be counted too perverse.

But roofs too hot would prove for me all fire;

And hills too high for my unused pace; The grove is charged with thorns and the bold briar;

Gray snakes the meadows shroud in every
place:

A yellow frog, alas, will fright me so,
As I should start and tremble as I go.

Since then I can on earth no fit room find, In heaven I am resolved with you to

meet:

Till then, for hope's sweet sake, rest your tired mind

And not so much as see me in the street: A heavenly meeting one day we shall have, But never, as you dream, in bed, or grave.

Silly Boy,
't is Full
Moon Yet

Silly boy, 't is full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly;

Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love so dearly.

Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy pleasures are bereaved;

Little knows he how to love that never was deceived.

This is thy first maiden flame, that triumphs yet unstained;

All is artless now you speak, not one word, yet, is feigned;

All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessed;

But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his Cressid.

Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang neglected;

And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth dejected.

Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy,

And with sighs confess, in love that too much faith is folly.

Yet be just and constant still! Love may beget a wonder,

Not unlike a summer's frost, or winter's fatal thunder.

He that holds his sweetheart true, unto his day of dying,

Lives, of all that ever breathed, most worthy the envying.

If thou
Long'st so

much to Learn

If thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 't is to love,

Do but fix thy thought on me and thou shalt quickly prove.

Little suit, at first, shall win
Way to thy abashed desire,
But then will I hedge thee in
Salamander-like with fire!

With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond dalliance bear;

We the grovy hills will climb, and play the wantons there;

Other whiles we'll gather flowers,

Lying dallying on the grass;

And thus our delightful hours

Full of waking dreams shall pass.

When thy joys were thus at height, my love should turn from thee;