Fancy And Desire Poem by Edward de Vere

Come hither shepherd's swayne:
'Sir, what do you require?'
I praye thee, shewe to me thy name.
'My name is Fond Desire.'

When wert thou borne, Desire?
'In pompe and pryme of May.'
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot?
'By fond Conceit, men say.'

Tell me, who was thy nurse?
'Fresh Youth in sugred joy.'
What was thy meate and dayly foode?
'Sad sighes with great annoy.'

What hadst thou then to drinke?
'Unsavoury lovers teares.'
What cradle wert thou rocked in?
'In hope devoyde of feares.'

What lulld thee then asleepe?
'Sweete speech, which likes me best.'
Tell me, where is thy dwelling place?
'In gentle hartes I rest.'

What thing doth please thee most?
'To gaze on beautye stille.'
Whom dost thou thinke to be thy foe?
'Disdayn of my good wille.'

Doth companye displease?
'Yes, surelye, many one.'
Where doth Desire delighte to live?
'He loves to live alone.'

Doth either tyme or age
Bring him unto decaye?
'No, no, Desire both lives and dyes
Ten thousand times a daye.'

Then, fond Desire, farewelle,
Thou are no mate for mee;
I sholde be lothe, methinkes, dwelle
With such a one as thee.