A Sweet Contention between Love, his Mistress, and Beauty

Love and my mistress were at strife Who had the greatest power on me: Betwixt them both, oh, what a life! Nay, what a death is this to be

She said, she did it with her eye; He said, he did it with his dart; Betwixt them both (a silly wretch!) 'Tis I that have the wounded heart.

She said, she only spake the word That did enchant my peering sense; He said, he only gave the sound That enter'd heart without defence.

She said, her beauty was the mark That did amaze the highest mind; He said, he only made the mist Whereby the senses grew so blind.

She said, that only for her sake, The best would venture life and limb: He said, she was too much deceiv'd; They honour'd her because of him.

Long while, alas, she would not yield, But it was she that rul'd the roost; Until by proof, she did confess, If he were gone, her joy was lost.

And then she cried, "Oh, dainty love, I now do find it is for thee, That I am lov'd and honour'd both, And thou hast power to conquer me."

But, when I heard her yield to love, Oh! how my heart did leap for joy! That now I had some little hope To have an end to mine annoy!

But, as too soon, before the field The trumpets sound the overthrow, So all too soon I joy'd too much, For I awaked, and nothing saw. Nicholas Breton