A Letter of Resolution.
WHY thus in Cynthia's sports do you delight,
And take from Loves all their due and right;
Yield brightest, and his sweetest pleasures try,
Whose fires in funeral flames can onely die.
May I not live, if all things plead not sin;
I wonder what strange sear doth keep thee in.
Though with Diana thou dost seem to vie,
Trust me, thy face doth give thy words the lie;
More sit for Venus thou then her wilt prove,
There's no Religion, sweet, but that of Love.
Were the Gods kinde, and to my love agreed,
With eyes unwilling thou these Lines should read.
When shall I thee embrace intranc't, and lie
Languishing wrapt in Loves sweet extasie.
If Arts will not avail, then Arms Ile move,
And so my longing besome force thy love,
Yet us Loves warfare better will become.
Soft breathings best please love, not the sierce Drum;
If that thou wilt I can more gentle be,
Lay shame aside, and yield thy self to me:
Either thy self into my arms resign,
Or I must fall, for I have vow'd thee mine.