  Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white, For all those rosy ornaments in thee,— Thou art not sweet, though made of mere delight, Nor fair, nor sweet—unless thou pity me! I will not soothe thy fancies; thou shalt prove That beauty is no beauty without love. —Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine: Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, I'll not be wrapp'd up in those arms of thine: —Now show it, if thou be a woman right— Embrace and kiss and love me in despite! T. Campion |
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