Anonymous British

A Lover of Late

A lover of late was I, For Cupid would have it soe, The boy that hath never an eye, As every man doth know. I sighed, and sobbed, and cryed, alas! For her that laught and called me ass. Then knew not I what to doe When I saw itt was in vaine A lady oe coy to wooe, Who gave me the asse so plaine. Yet would I her asse freelye bee, Soe shee would helpe and beare with mee. An I were as faire as shee, Or shee were as kind as I, What payre cold have made, as wee, Soe prettye a sympathye? I was as kind as she was faire, But for all this wee cold not paire. Paire with her that will, for mee! With her I will never paire That cunningly can be coy, For being a little faire. The asse Ile leave to her disdaine, And now I am myselfe againe.