213. A Hymn To Love

I will confess With cheerfulness, Love is a thing so likes me, That, let her lay On me all day, I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.

I will not, I, Now blubb'ring cry, It, ah! too late repents me That I did fall To love at all-- Since love so much contents me.

No, no, I'll be In fetters free; While others they sit wringing Their hands for pain, I'll entertain The wounds of love with singing.

With flowers and wine, And cakes divine, To strike me I will tempt thee; Which done, no more I'll come before Thee and thine altars empty.

214. UPON LOVE: BY WAY OF QUESTION AND ANSWER

I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Like, and dislike ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Stroke ye, to strike ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Love will be-fool ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Heat ye, to cool ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Love, gifts will send ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Stock ye, to spend ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Love will fulfil ye. I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do? ANS. Kiss ye, to kill ye.