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The short Wooing.
LIke an Oblation set before a Shrine,
Fair One! I offer up this heart of mine.
Whether the Saint accept my Gift or no,
Ile neither fear not doubt before I know.
For he whose faint distrust prevents reply,
Doth his own suits denial prophecy.
Your will the sentence is; Who free as Fate
Can bid my love proceed, or else retreat.
And from short views that ve••di••••t is decreed
Which seldom doth one audience exceed.
Love asks no dull probation, but like light
Conveyes his nimble influence at first sight.
I need not therefore importune or press;
This were t'extort unwilling happiness:
And much against affection might I sin:
To tire and weary what I seek to win.
Towns which by lingring siege enforced be
Oft make both sides repent the victorie.