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...