II.

Sparrow, favourite of my own beloved, Whom to play with, or in her arms to fondle, She delighteth, anon with hardy-pointed Finger angrily doth provoke to bite her:

When my lady, a lovely star to long for, 5 Bends her splendour awhile to tricksy frolic; Peradventure a careful heart beguiling, Pardie, heavier ache perhaps to lighten;

Might I, like her, in happy play caressing Thee, my dolorous heart awhile deliver! 10 . . . . . . . . I would joy, as of old the maid rejoiced Racing fleetly, the golden apple eyeing, Late-won loosener of the wary girdle.