Beauty, since you so much desire,
To know the place of Cupids fire :
About you somewhere doth it rest,
Yet neuer harbour'd in your brest :
Nor gout-like in your heele or toe ;
What foole would seeke Loues flame so low ?
But a little higher, but a little higher :
There, there, ô there lyes Cupids fire.
Thinke not when Cupid most you scorne,
Men iudge that you of Ice were borne :
For though you cast loue at your heele,
His fury yet sometime you feele,
And where-abouts if you would know,
I tell you still not in your toe :
But a little higher, but a little higher ;
There, there, ô there lyes Cupids fire.
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