(Thomas Dekker)


Here sit thou down upon this flowry bank,
And make a garland for thy Lacys head.
These pinks, these roses, and these violets,
These blushing gilliflowers, these marigolds,
The fair embroidery of his coronet,
Carry not half such beauty in their cheeks,
As the sweet countenance of my Lacy doth.
O my most unkind father! O my stars,
Why lowerd you so at my nativity,
To make me love, yet live robbd of my love?
Here as a thief am I imprisoned
For my dear Lacys sake within those walls,
Which by my fathers cost were builded up
For better purposes. Here must I languish
For him that doth as much lament, I know,
Mine absence, as for him I pine in woe. 

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