Ai me! I love, give him your hand to kisse Who both your wooer, and your Poet is. Nature has pre-compos'd us both to Love; Your part's to grant; my Scean must be to move. Deare, can you like, and liking love your Poet? If you say (I) Blush-guiltinesse will shew it. Mine eyes must wooe you; (though I sigh the while) True Love is tonguelesse as a Crocodile. And you may find in Love these differing Parts; Wooers have Tongues of Ice, but burning hearts. |