Love and my selfe (beleeve me) on a day At childish Push-pin (for our sport) did play: I put, he pusht, and heedless of my skin, Love prickt my finger with a golden pin: Since which, it festers so, that I can prove 'Twas but a trick to poyson me with love: Little the wound was; greater was the smart, The finger bled, but burnt was all my heart. |