in her first passion woman loves her lover
as loves young dream,
ask what is sweetness of thy kiss
and steal immortal blessings from her lips
for love is of sae mickle might,
consider the lilies of the field
if so be, you ask me where
how they grow
that it all paines makis light
theres nothing so half sweet in life
ask of thyself what beauty is
and all a wonder and wild desire
they toil not, neither do they spin
lips however rosy, must be fed
still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin
take away love and our earth is tomb
who even in pure and vestal modesty
in all the others, all she loves is love
they doe grow, i answer, there
love is much in winning,
yet is more in lessin'
and we will all the pleasures prove
love came laughing by, and cried.