Sweete kisse, thy sweetes I faine would sweetely indite,
Which even of sweetnes, sweetest sweeter art;
Pleasing’st consort, where each sense holds a part,
With coopling Doves guides Venus chariot right,
Best charge and brav’st retraite in Cupids sight.
A double key which openeth to the hart,
Most ritch when most his ritches it imparte.
Nest of yong joyes, Scholemaster of delight,
Teaching the meanes at once to take and give,
The friendly fray where blowes do wound and heale,
The prettie death while each in other live,
Poore hopes first wealth a stage of promised weale.
Breakefast of love, but loe, loe where shee is
Cease we to praise, now praie wee for a kisse.