I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.
Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason
for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and
love keep little company together now-a-days; the
more the pity that some honest neighbours will not
make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.
Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out
of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.
I gaze upon thee, my King, come back again:
My heart is much besotted with ache;
I hope so is your chest as well;
And thus memories' images doth present
Your lips spell to tell, to say, my Love love thee.
Methinks, my Queen, you should not have to
suffer so: and yet, truth be told, love and madness
hand in hand they go these days; the
more the merrier bring forth thy smile in time will
come to me back again. Nay, I glance through the hourglass.
Thou art as sage as thou art alluring.
Perhaps so, both: but if I had power enough to break out
of this obscure jungle, I'd carry enough to serve back alongside you, our own play.