1
Blame not my cheekes, though pale with loue they be,
The kindly heate into my heart is flowne,
To cherish it that is dismaide by thee,
Who art so cruell and vnsted fast growne:
For nature cald for by distressed hearts,
Neglects and quite for fahes the outward partes.
2
But they whose cheekes with carelesse bloud are staind,
Nurse not one sparke of loue within their hearts,
And when they wooe, they speake with passions faind.
For their fat loue lies in their outward parts :
But in their brest, where loue his Court should holde,
Poore Cupid sits, and blowes his nayles for colde.
words by:
Thomas Campion: A Booke of Ayres, 1601