Upon A. M.

Yield all, my love ; but be withal as coy
As if thou knew'st not how to sport and toy :
The fort resign'd with ease, men cowards prove
And lazy grow. Let me besiege my love ;
Let me despair at least three times a day,
And take repulses upon each essay :
If I but ask a kiss, straight blush as red
As if I tempted for thy maidenhead ;
Contract thy smiles, if that they go too far.
And let thy frowns be such as threaten war :
That face which nature sure never intended
Should e'er be marr'd, because 't could ne'er be mended.
Take no corruption from thy grandame Eve ;
Rather want faith to save thee, than believe
Too soon ; for credit me 'tis true,
Men most of all enjoy when least they do.