Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. II. Love
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Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume II. Love.  1904.
 
II. Love’s Nature
Rosalynd’s Complaint
Thomas Lodge (1558–1625)
 
LOVE in my bosom, like a bee,
  Doth suck his sweet;
Now with his wings he plays with me.
  Now with his feet;
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,        5
His bed amidst my tender breast,
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest:
  Ah! wanton, will ye?
 
And if I sleep, then percheth he        10
  With pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee,
  The livelong night.
Strike I the lute, he tunes the string;
He music plays, if so I sing;        15
He lends me every lovely thing,
Yet, cruel, he my heart doth sting:
  Whist! wanton, still ye!
 
Else I with roses every day
  Will whip you hence,        20
And hind you when you long to play,
  For your offence;
I ’ll shut my eyes to keep you in,
I ’ll make you fast it for your sin,
I ’ll count your power not worth a pin:        25
Alas! what hereby shall I win
  If he gainsay me!
 
What if I beat the wanton boy
  With many a rod?
He will repay me with annoy,        30
  Because a god;
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in my eyes, I like of thee,
O Cupid! so thou pity me;        35
  Spare not, but play thee!
 
 
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