I Cannot Dance.

You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.

I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.