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.