“
I care not for these ladies,Her beauty is her own.
— Thomas Campion
I care not for these ladies,Her beauty is her own.
Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee,That she in peace may wake and pity me.
Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee,When the ev'ning beams are set?
The man whose silent days
There is a garden in her faceTill Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
