Where fancy fond for pleasure pleads
And reason keeps poor hope in jail
There time it is to take my beads
And pray, that beauty may prevail
Or else despair will win the field
Where reason, hope, and pleasure yield

My eyes presume to judge this case
Whose judgment reason doth disdain
But beauty with her wanton face
Stands to defend the case is plain
And at the bar of sweet delight
She pleads that fancy must be right

But shame will not have reason yield
Though grief do swear it shall be so
As though it were a perfect shield
To blush and fear to tell my woe
Where silence force will, at the last
To wish for wit when hope is past

So far hath fond desire outrun
The bond which reason set out first
That where delight the fray begun
I would now say, if that I durst
That in her stead ten thousand woes
Have sprung in field where pleasure grows

I must, therefore, with silence build
The Labyrinth of my delight
Till Love hath tried in open field
Which of the twain shall win the fight
I fear me reason must give place
If fancy fond win beauty's grace