|
| Rob mee, but binde me not, and let me goe. |
| Must I, who came to travaile thorow you, |
| Grow your fixt subject, because you are true? |
|
| Venus heard me sigh this song, |
| And by Loves sweetest Part, Variety, she swore, |
| She heard not this till now; and that it should be so no more. |
| She went, examin'd, and return'd ere long, |
| And said, alas, Some two or three |
| Poore Heretiques in love there bee, |
| Which thinke to stablish dangerous constancie. |
| But I have told them, since you will be true, |
| You shall be true to them, who'are false to you. |
|
|
| Loves Vsury. |
|
| For every houre that thou wilt spare mee now, |
| I will allow, |
| Usurious God of Love, twenty to thee, |
| When with my browne, my gray haires equall bee; |
| Till then, Love, let my body raigne, and let |
| Mee travell, sojourne, snatch, plot, have, forget, |
| Resume my last yeares relict: thinke that yet |
| We'had never met.
|
[CW: Let] |