Lovesome

A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!

Through all the living Regions dost thou move, And scatter'st, where thou goest, the kindly Seeds of Love: Since then the race of every living thing, Obeys thy pow'r; since nothing new can spring Without thy Warmth, without thy Influence bear, Or beautiful or lovesome can appear, Be thou my Aid: my tuneful Song inspire, And kindle with thy own productive Fire;

[T]he Lady seems Lovesome, & I fancy lends him Money from Time to Time.