To Amasia, who having prick'd me with a Pin, for a Subject to write on, accidentally scratch'd her self with it, when in my hand afterwards

Why, Cruel fair one, did you wound me so?
Too well o'er me your mighty Power you know.
Thus sure you thought not to have Conquer'd more,
Whom your Pin enter'd, your Eyes pierc'd before.
Perhaps, you did it with design to see
How small a touch of you prevails on me.
Your harmless Weapon has your wonders shown,
You wound our Sex with what adorns your own.
This little Blood without a wrong you drew,
For all I have I would expend for you.
Yet here by chance, a full Revenge is found,
And thus at least, you feel a Mutual wound.
The Juster Spear against its Mistress turns,
And points revenge for which the Actor mourns.
Your Finger blushes for the wound it gave,
Far deeper that which made me first your Slave.
Your precious Blood with mine is justly paid,
For my Heart bleeds for what my hands have made.