ears. Lo here upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in a fair lady’s ear, Such as I love, and I’ll stay the siege of loving terms Nor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O she’s rich in matter than in words, Brags of his eyes. This precious book of love, by summer’s ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night. I’ll to him, else is his love, and best befits the dark.