William Shakespeare - On a day, alack the day lyrics

On a day, alacke the day : Loue, whofe Month is euer May : Spied a bloffome pasfing faire, Playing in the wanton aire: Through the Veluet, leaues the wind, All vnfeene, can paff*ge finde: That the Louer ficke to d**h, Wifh himselfe the heauens breath. Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blow, Ayre would I might triumph fo. But alacke my hand is fworne, Nere to plucke thee from thy throne: Vow alacke for youth vnmeete, Youth fo apt to pluck a fweete, ((Do not call it finne in me, That I am forfworne for thee :)) Thou for whom Ioue would fweare, Iuno but an AEthiop were, And denie himfelfe for Joue, Turning mortall for thy loue.