Surely—I say—we are favour’d overmuch.
But of this wonder, what doth most amaze
Is that we know our love is held for praise.
56
Beauty sat with, me all the summer day,
Awaiting the sure triumph of her eye;
Nor mark’d I till we parted, how, hard by,
Love in her train stood ready for his prey.
She, as too proud to join herself the fray,
Trusting too much to her divine ally,