Love in my bosom like a bee
      Doth suck his sweet: 
    Now with his wings he plays with me,
      Now with his feet. 
    Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
    His bed amidst my tender breast;
    My kisses are his daily feast,
    And yet he robs me of my rest. 
      Ah, wanton, will ye?

    And if I sleep, then percheth he
      With pretty flight,
    And makes his pillow of my knee
      The livelong night. 
    Strike I my lute, he tunes the string,
    He music plays if so I sing;
    He lends me every lovely thing,
    Yet cruel he my heart doth sting. 
      Whist, wanton, still ye!

    Else I with roses every day
      Will whip you hence,
    And bind you, when you long to play,
      For your offence;
    I’ll shut mine eyes to keep you in,
    I’ll make you fast it for your sin,
    I’ll count your power not worth a pin. 
    Alas, what hereby shall I win,
      If he gainsay me?

    What if I beat the wanton boy
      With many a rod? 
    He will repay me with annoy,
      Because a God. 
    Then sit thou safely on my knee,
    And let thy bower my bosom be;
    Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee. 
    O Cupid, so thou pity me,
      Spare not but play thee.

Scarce had Rosalynde ended her madrigal, before Torismond came in with his daughter Alinda and many of the peers of France, who were enamored of her beauty; which Torismond perceiving, fearing lest her perfection might be the beginning of his prejudice, and the hope of his fruit end in the beginning of her blossoms, he thought to banish her from the court:  “for,” quoth he to himself, “her face is so full of favor, that it pleads pity in the eye of every man; her beauty is so heavenly and divine, that she will prove to me as Helen did to Priam; some one of the peers will aim at her love, end the marriage, and then in his wife’s right attempt the kingdom.  To prevent therefore had I wist in all these actions, she tarries not about the court, but shall (as an exile) either wander to her father, or else seek other fortunes.”  In this humor, with a stern countenance full of wrath, he breathed out this censure unto her before the peers, that charged her that that night she were not seen about the court:  “for,” quoth he, “I have heard of thy aspiring speeches, and intended treasons.”  This doom was strange unto Rosalynde, and presently, covered with the shield of her innocence, she boldly brake out in reverent terms to have cleared herself; but Torismond would admit of no reason, nor durst his lords plead for Rosalynde, although her beauty had made some of them passionate, seeing the figure of wrath portrayed in his brow.  Standing thus all mute, and Rosalynde amazed, Alinda, who loved her more than herself, with grief in her heart and tears in her eyes, falling down on her knees, began to entreat her father thus: