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Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;

And by her fair immortal hand she swears

From his soft bosom never to remove

Till he take truce with her contending tears,

Which long have rained, making her cheeks all wet;

And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,

Like a divedapper peering through a wave

Who, being looked on, ducks as quickly in–

So offers he to give what she did crave.

But when her lips were ready for his pay,

He winks, and turns his lips another way.

Never did passenger in summer’s heat

More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.

Her help she sees, but help she cannot get.

She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn.

‘O pity,’ gan she cry, ‘flint-hearted boy!

’Tis but a kiss I beg–why art thou coy?

‘I have been wooed as I entreat thee now

Even by the stern and direful god of war,

Whose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow,

Who conquers where he comes in every jar.

Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,

And begged for that which thou unasked shalt have.

‘Over my altars hath he hung his lance,

His battered shield, his uncontrollèd crest,

And for my sake hath learned to sport and dance,

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