Young and simple though I am,
 I have heard of Cupid's name;
 Guess I can what thing it is
 Men desire when they do kiss.
   Smoke can never burn they say,
   But the flames that follow may.

 I am not so fond, so fair,
 To be proud, or to despair;
 Yet my lips have oft observ'd,
 Men that kiss them press too hard,
   As glad lovers use to do,
   When their new met loves they woo.

 Fain 'tis but a foolish mind,
 Yet methinks a heat I find,
 And thirsty longing that doth bide
 Ever on the weaker side:
   O I feel my heart doth move,
   Venus grant it be not love.

 If it be, alas, what then?
 Were not women made for men?
 As good it were a thing were past,
 That must needs be done at last:
   Roses that are overblown
   Grow less sweet, and fall alone.

 Yet no churl or silken gull
 Shall my virgin blossom pull:
 Who shall not, I soon can tell,
 Who shall, would I could as well.
   Yet I'm sure what ere he be,
   Love he must, or flatter me.