A Blackmore Maid Wooing a Fair Boy

Why, lovely boy, why fly'st thou me,

That languish in these flames for thee?

I'm Black, 'tis true; why, so is Night,

And Love doth in Dark shades delight.

The whole world, do but close thine eye,

Will seem to thee as Black as l;

Or op't, and see what a Black shade

Is by thine own fair body made,

That follows thee where ere thou go:

Oh, who allow'd would do not so?

Let me forever dwell so nigh,

And thou shalt need no other shade than I.