Not hopelessly: the heav’n to which I pray’d
Answer’d in only listening to my vows;
Such daring not defeated not disdain’d.
Two years I worshipp’d at a shrine of beauty,
That modesty’s cold hand kept stainless still;
Till wearied, if not moved by endless prayers,
She grants them; yea, on this most blessed day,
With this thrice blessed letter. You must see it,
That your felicitations by rebound
Double my own; the first victorious trophy