Sonnet XIII. Love guides the roses of thy lips

Thomas Lodge (1558–1625)

LOVE guides the roses of thy lips,

And flies about them like a bee;

If I approach he forward skips,

And if I kiss he stingeth me.

Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,

And sleeps within their pretty shine;

And if I look the boy will lower,

And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.

Love works thy heart within his fire,

And in my tears doth firm the same;

And if I tempt it will retire,

And of my plaints doth make a game.

Love, let me cull her choicest flowers,

And pity me, and calm her eye,

Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers,

Then will I praise thy deity.

But if thou do not love, I ’ll truly serve her.

In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.