Anon. in Love

Fain would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charm'd me
Long, long to sing by rote,
Fancying that that harm'd me:

Yet when this thought doth come
'Love is the perfect sum 
Of all delight!'
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
To sing or write.

O Love! they wrong thee much
That say thy fruit is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.

Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,
I do adore thee:
I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart,
And fall before thee.

O stay, sweet love; see here the place of sporting;
  These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us,
And chirping birds are hitherward resorting,
  Warbling sweet notes only to delight us:
Then stay, dear love, for, tho' thou run from me,
Run ne'er so fast, yet I will follow thee.

I thought, my love, that I should overtake you;
  Sweet heart, sit down under this shadow'd tree,
And I will promise never to forsake you,
  So you will grant to me a lover's fee.
Whereat she smiled, and kindly to me said -
I never meant to live and die a maid.

Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting,
Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,
And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours,
My eyes present me with a double doubting;
For, viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes
Whether the roses be your lips or your lips the roses.

My Love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her:
For every season she hath dressings fit,
For winter, spring, and summer.

No beauty she doth miss
When all her robes are on:
But Beauty's self, Beauty's self she is
When all her robes are gone.

I gave her Cakes and I gave her Ale,
I gave her Sack and Sherry;
I kist her once and I kist her twice,
And we were wondrous merry.

I gave her Beads and Bracelets fine,
I gave her Gold down derry.
I thought she was afear'd till she stroaked my Beard
And we were wondrous merry.

Merry my Hearts, merry my Cocks,
Merry merry merry my Sprights.
Merry merry merry my hey down derry.
I kist her once and I kist her twice,
And we were wondrous merry.

To couple is a custom:
All things thereto agree.
Why should not I then love,
Since love to all is free?

But I'll have one that's pretty,
Her cheeks of scarlet dye,
For to breed my delight
When that I lig her by.

Tho' virtue be a dowry,
Yet I'll chuse money store:
If my love prove untrue,
With that I can get more.

The fair is oft unconstant,
The black is often proud,
I'll chuse a lovely brown:
Come fiddler scrape thy crowd.

Come fiddler scrape thy crowd,
For Peggy the brown is she;
She must be my bride;
God guide that Peggy and I agree.