Honour.
1
She
Loves, and she confesses too;
There's then at last, no more to do.
The happy work's entirely done;
Enter the Town which thou hast won;
The Fruits of Conquest now begin;
Iô Triumph! Enter in.
2
What's this, ye Gods, what can it be?
Remains there still an Enemie?
Bold Honour stands up in the Gate,
And would yet Capitulate;
Have I o'recome all real foes,
And shall this Phantome me oppose?
3
Noisy Nothing! stalking Shade!
By what Witchcraft wert thou made?
Empty cause of Solid harms!
But I shall find out Counter-charms
Thy airy Devi'lship to remove
From this Circle here of Love.
4
Sure I shall rid my self of Thee
By the Nights obscurity,
And obscurer secresie.
Unlike to every other spright,
Thou attempt'st not men t'affright,
Nor appear'st but in the Light.
