Truce in Love entreated.

NO more, blind God, for see my heart
Is made thy Quiver, where remaines
No voyd place for another Dart;
And alas! that conquest gaines
Small praise, that only brings away
A tame and unresisting prey.

Behold a nobler foe, all arm'd,
Defies thy weake Artillerie,
That hath thy Bow and Quiver charm'd;
A rebell beautie, conquering Thee!
If thou dar'st equall combat try,
Wound her, for 'tis for her I dye.