To Mistresse Amie Potter.

A I 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.