On a faire maid & a Black a more.

M. Stand off & let me take the aire

Why should the smoake persue the faire.

B. My face is smoake thence may be gest

That flams within have scorcht my brest.

M. Thy flaming love I cannot view

For the darke-lanthorne of thy hue.

B. And yet this lanthorne keeps love’s vapor

Surer than yours that’s of white paper

Whatsoever mid-night can be here

The moone-shine of your face will cleere.

M. My Moone of an eclipse is fraid

If you should interpose your shade.

B. Yet one thing I sweet heart will aske

Take me for a new-fashon’d maske.

M. Done, but my bargen shall be this

I’le throw my maske off when I kisse.

B. Our curl’d imbraces shall delight

To checker worke with blacke & white.

M. Thine inke my paper makes me guesse

Our nuptiall bed will prove the presse

And in our sports if any came

They’le read a wanton epigram.

B. Why should my blacke my love impare

Let the darke shape com[m]mend the ware,

Or if thy love from blacke forbears

I’le strive to wash it off with teares

M. Spaire fruitlesse teares since thou must needs

Still weare about thee mourning weeds

Teares can no more affection win

Then wash thine Ethiopian skin.

SOURCE: British Library MS Harley 3511, fols. 4v-5r.