vi.
Nay, there are dimples which I long to taste,
And there's a girdle fit for Phœbe's waist
Which I would loosen; for I have the skill
To handle lilies; and, by Venus' will,
I'd handle thee, and comfort thee therein.
For love's a sacrament I'd die to win,
And not a toy nor yet a subterfuge;
And not a pitfall for the feet of sin.