 | Ayres, and dialogues |  |
23
A Recantation.
[I]
Forgive me Love, what have I done!Abus'd the Stars, Eclips'd the Sun;
And rashly call'd a Wandring light
The Star whence true love borrows light:
Yet mark the jest, She thinks that I
Speak truth, and dote; Love knows I lie.
II
Will you not give men leave to sport,Alas, my heart commands a fort,
Whence all the artillery of your Eyes
Can make no breach, much lesse a prize:
How subtle Ladies now are grown!
Yet caught in Engines of their own.
III
My heart's no Coward, you shall see,To yield, because you shot at mee;
A man o're come so quickly may
Be taken pris'ner every day:
Then Lady boast not of your prize,
My heart still in his castle lyes.
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