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I.
Heark,
faire one, how what e're here is
Doth laugh and sing
at thy distresse;
Not out of hate to thy reliefe,
But joy t' enjoy thee, though in griefe.
II.
See! that which chaynes you, you chaine here;
The
prison is thy prisoner;
How much thy jaylor's keeper
art!
He bindes your hands, but you his heart.
III.
The gyves to rase so smooth a skin,
Are so
unto themselves within;
But, blest to kisse so fayre
an arme,
Haste to be happy with that harme;
IV.
And play about thy wanton wrist,
As if in them
thou so wert drest;
But if too rough, too hard they
presse,
Oh, they but closely, closely kisse.
V.
And as thy bare feet blesse the way,
The people
doe not mock, but pray,
And call thee, as amas'd they
run
Instead of prostitute, a nun.
VI.
The
merry torch burnes with desire
To kindle the eternall
fire,
And lightly daunces in thine eyes
To tunes
of epithalamies.
VII.
The sheet's ty'd ever to
thy wast,
How thankfull to be so imbrac't!
And
see! thy very very bonds
Are bound to thee, to binde
such hands.
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