SONG. Conquest by flight.

LAdyes, flye from Love's smooth tale,
Oathes sleep'd in teares doe oft prevaile;
Griefe is infectious, and the ayre
Enflam'd with sighes, will blast the fayre:
Then stop your ea…es, when lovers cry,
Lest your selfe weepe, when no soft eye,
Shall with a sorrowing teare repay
That pittie which you cast away.

Young men fly, when beautie darts,
Amorous glances at your hearts:
The sixt marke gives the shooter ayme;
And Ladyes lookes have power to may me;
Now 'twixt their lips, now in their eyes,
Wrapt in a smile, or kisse, Love lyes;
Then flye betimes, for only they
Conquer love that run away.