Love Suffereth no Parasol
Those eyes, deare eyes, bee spheares,
Where two bright sunnes are roll'd;
That faire hand to behold,
Of whitest snowe appeares:
Then while yee coylie stand,
To hide from mee those eyes,
Sweet, I would you aduise
To choose some other fanne than that white hand;
For if yee doe, for trueth most true this know,
That sunnes ere long must needes consume warme snow.
Where two bright sunnes are roll'd;
That faire hand to behold,
Of whitest snowe appeares:
Then while yee coylie stand,
To hide from mee those eyes,
Sweet, I would you aduise
To choose some other fanne than that white hand;
For if yee doe, for trueth most true this know,
That sunnes ere long must needes consume warme snow.
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