Shall I die?

Shall I die? Shall I flyLover's baits and deceitssorrow breeding?Shall I tend? Shall I send?Shall I sue, and not ruemy proceeding?In all duty her beautyBinds me her servant for ever.If she scorn, I mourn,I retire to despair, joining never.

Yet I must vent my lustAnd explain inward painby my love conceiving.If she smiles, she exilesAll my moan; if she froan,all my hopes deceiving -Suspicious doubt, O keep out,For thou art my tormentor.Fie away, pack away;I will love, for hope bids me venture.

'Twere abuse to accuseMy fair love, ere I proveher affection.Therefore try! Her replyGives me joy - or annoy,or affliction.Yet howe'er, I will bearHer pleasure with patience, for beautySure will not seem to blotHer deserts, wronging him doth her duty.

In a dream it did seem -But alas, dreams do passas do shadows -I did walk, I did talkWith my love, with my dovethrough fair meadows.Still we passed till at lastWe sat to repose us for pleasure.Being set, lips met,Arms twined, and did bind my heart's treasure.

Gentle wind sport did findWantonly to make flyher gold tresses.As they shook I did look,But her fair did impairall my senses.As amazed, I gazedOn more than a mortal complexion.You that love can proveSuch force in beauty's inflection.

Next her hair, forehead fair,Smooth and high; neat doth lie,without wrinkle,Her fair brows; under those,Star-like eyes win love's prizewhen they twinkle.In her cheeks who seeksShall find there displayed beauty's banner;O admiring desiringBreeds, as I look still upon her.

Thin lips red, fancy's fedWith all sweets when he meets,and is grantedThere to trade, and is madeHappy, sure, to endurestill undaunted.Pretty chin doth winOf all their culled commendations;Fairest neck, no speck;All her parts merit high admirations.

Pretty bare, past compare,Parts those plots which besotsstill asunder.It is meet naught but sweetShould come near that so rare'tis a wonder.No mis-shape, no scapeInferior to nature's perfection;No blot, no spot:She's beauty's queen in election.

Whilst I dreamt, I, exemptFrom all care, seemed to sharepleasure's plenty;But awake, care take -For I find to my mindpleasures scanty.Therefore I will tryTo compass my heart's chief contenting.To delay, some say,In such a cause causeth repenting.