First book, 10: Think'st thou then by thy feigning. [Italian translation]

Think'st thou then by thy feigning

Sleep, with a proud disdaining,

Or with thy crafty closing

Thy cruel eyes reposing,

To drive me from thy sight,

When sleep yields more delight,

Such harmless beauty gracing.

And while sleep feigned is,

May not I steal a kiss,

Thy quiet arms embracing.

O that thy sleep dissembled,

Were to a trance resembled,

Thy cruel eyes deceiving,

Of lively sense bereaving:

Then should my love requite

Thy love's unkind despite,

While fury triumph'd boldly

In beauty's sweet disgrace:

And liv'd in deep embrace

Of her that lov'd so coldly.

Should then my love aspiring,

Forbidden joys desiring,

So far exceed the duty

That virtue owes to beauty?

No Love seek not thy bliss,

Beyond a simple kiss:

For such deceits are harmless,

Yet kiss a thousand-fold.

For kisses may be bold.

• Artist:John Dowland
• Album:Dowland: First Booke of Songs or Ayres.