Loue is the end of my desire, 40
      loue is the loadstarre of my loue,
    Loue makes my selfe, my selfe admire,
      loue seated my delights aboue.

    Loue placed honor in my brest,
      loue made me learnings fauoret,
    Loue made me liked of the best,
      loue first my minde on virtue set.

    Loue is my life, life is my loue,
      loue is my whole felicity,
    Loue is my sweete, sweete is my loue, 50
      I am in loue, and loue in mee.

From Eclogue viij

    Farre in the countrey of Arden
    There wond a knight hight Cassemen,
      as bolde as Isenbras: 
    Fell was he and eger bent,
    In battell and in Tournament,
      as was the good sir Topas. 
    He had as antique stories tell,
    A daughter cleaped Dowsabell,
      a mayden fayre and free: 
    And for she was her fathers heire, 10
    Full well she was ycond the leyre,
      of mickle curtesie. 
    The silke wel couth she twist and twine,
    And make the fine Marchpine,
      and with the needle werke,
    And she couth helpe the priest to say
    His Mattens on a holyday,
      and sing a Psalme in Kirke. 
    She ware a frocke of frolicke greene,
    Might well beseeme a mayden Queene, 20
      which seemly was to see. 
    A hood to that so neat and fine,
    In colour like the colombine,
      ywrought full featously. 
    Her feature all as fresh aboue,
    As is the grasse that grows by Doue,
      as lyth as lasse of Kent: 
    Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,
    As white as snow on peakish hull,
      or Swanne that swims in Trent. 30
    This mayden in a morne betime,
    Went forth when May was in her prime,
      to get sweet Cetywall,
    The hony-suckle, the Harlocke,
    The Lilly and the Lady-smocke,
      to decke her summer hall. 
    Thus as she wandred here and there,
    Ypicking of the bloomed Breere,
      she chanced to espie
    A shepheard sitting on a bancke, 40
    Like Chanteclere he crowed crancke,
      and pip’d with merrie glee: 
    He leard his sheepe as he him list,
    When he would whistle in his fist,
      to feede about him round: 
    Whilst he full many a caroll sung,
    Vntill the fields and medowes rung,
      and that the woods did sound: 
    In fauour this same shepheards swayne,
    Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne, 50
      which helde prowd Kings in awe: 
    But meeke he was as Lamb mought be,
    Ylike that gentle Abel he,
      whom his lewd