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The Phanseys of William Cavendish Marquis of Newcastle

addressed to Margaret Lucas and her Letters in reply: Edited by Douglas Grant

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10 Love's Excuse
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17

10
Love's Excuse

My Deere, how can I thinke that you love mee?
In what, or how, can I thinke that should bee?
Did you e'ar once enquier how I doe?
Yes, but that kindnesse I provoak't you to.
Or Ever sent? your woman too did flie me,
Although in Towne yet shee would not come nigh me.
Swarmes of your Courts make Visetts heere, not know
For all that whether you doe live or noe.
Well natur'de Tom sweares that his Mistresse chid him
For offringe but to see me, so forbid him.
Cruell of Cruelty, your love, I finde,
Will not your selfe nor servants lett be kinde.
What should I say in your behalfe? oh, now
I can Excuse you, and I'le tell you how:
My love to you so much, it lefte no roome
For any from you Unto me to come;
My Love did ply you so with Prose and Rime,
That my love never would give your love tyme;
My love made such assaults, did you surrownde,
That you had much adoe to keepe love's grownd;
My Love such Volleys gave, such Noble fier,
By my Inflam'd affection and desire.
So I confesse, t'is my faulte and not thine;
So aske you pardon att your sacred Shrine.
I've Won love's battle, yet your Prisner yeeld;
Though I have Conquer'd, you have won the feeld.