Dear, why make you more of a dog than me? br If he do love, I burn, I burn in love; br If he wait well, I never thence would move; br If he be fair, yet but a dog can be. br br Little he is, so little worth is he; br He barks, my songs thine own voice oft doth prove: br Bidden perhaps he fetcheth thee a glove, br But I unbid, fetch ev'n my soul to thee. br br Yet while I languish, him that bosom clips, br That lap doth lap, nay lets in spite of spite br This sour-breath'd mate taste of those sugar'd lips. br br Alas, if you grant only such delight br To witless thngs, then Love I hope (since wit br Becomes a clog) will soon ease me of it.