A Lover Of Late.
Printed, with a few slight corrections, from the Editor's folio MS.
A LOVER of late was I,
For Cupid would have it soe,
The boy that hath never an eye,
As every man doth know:
I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas!
For her that laught, and called me ass.
Then knew not I what to doe
When I saw itt was in vaine
A lady soe coy to wooe,
Who gave me the asse so plaine:
Yet would I her asse freelye bee,
Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee.
An I were as faire as shee,
Or shee were as kind as I,
What payre cold have made, as wee,
Soe prettye a sympathye?
I was as kind as shee was faire,
But for all this wee cold not paire.
Paire with her that will for mee,
With her I will never paire;
That cunningly can be coy,
For being a little faire.
The asse Ile leave to her disdaine;
And now I am myselfe againe.