Sparrow, favourite of my own beloved,
Whom to play with, or in her arms to fondle,
She delighteth, anon with hardy-pointed
Finger angrily doth provoke to bite her:
When my lady, a lovely star to long for, 5
Bends her splendour awhile to tricksy frolic;
Peradventure a careful heart beguiling,
Pardie, heavier ache perhaps to lighten;
Might I, like her, in happy play caressing
Thee, my dolorous heart awhile deliver! 10
. . . . . . . .
I would joy, as of old the maid rejoiced
Racing fleetly, the golden apple eyeing,
Late-won loosener of the wary girdle.