from Pamphilia to Amphilanthus: 7

Love leave to urge, thou know’st thou hast the hand;

    ’T’is cowardise, to strive wher none resist:

    Pray thee leave off, I yeeld unto thy band;

    Doe nott thus, still, in thine owne powre persist,

Beehold I yeeld: lett forces bee dismist;

    I ame thy subject, conquer’d, bound to stand,

    Never thy foe, butt did thy claime assist

    Seeking thy due of those who did withstand;

Butt now, itt seemes, thou would’st I should thee love;

    I doe confess, t’was thy will made mee chuse;

    And thy faire showes made mee a lover prove

    When I my freedome did, for paine refuse.

Yett this Sir God, your boyship I dispise;

Your charmes I obay, butt love nott want of eyes.