My Sweetheart
In her eyes of sweetest brown1
Love himself hath set him down ;2
On her gentle pouting lips3
Love hath laid his finger-tips ;4
And her cheek, ’tis plain to see,5
Love hath kissed to torture me.6
Love himself must go in fear7
Lest one win this dainty Dear,8
Since of all the maids he sees9
She, my Sweet, is first to please !10