Lady Mary Wroth

from Pamphilia to Amphilanthus: 7

Love leave to urge, thou know’st thou hast the hand;
   ’T’is cowardise, to strive wher none resist:
   Pray thee leave off, I yeeld unto thy band;
   Doe nott thus, still, in thine owne powre persist,
 
Beehold I yeeld: lett forces bee dismist;
   I ame thy subject, conquer’d, bound to stand,
   Never thy foe, butt did thy claime assist
   Seeking thy due of those who did withstand;
 
Butt now, itt seemes, thou would’st I should thee love;
   I doe confess, t’was thy will made mee chuse;
   And thy faire showes made mee a lover prove
   When I my freedome did, for paine refuse.
 
Yett this Sir God, your boyship I dispise;
Your charmes I obay, butt love nott want of eyes.
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