Therefore, my dearest George,
List well what I shall say,
And do not blame a woman much,
Her fancy to bewray. 80
Let not affection's force
Be counted lewd desire;
Nor think it not immodesty,
I should thy love require.
With that she turn'd aside, 85
And with a blushing red,
A mournful motion she bewray'd
By hanging down her head.
A handkerchief she had,
All wrought with silk and gold: 90
Which she to stay her trickling tears
Before her eyes did hold.
This thing unto my sight
Was wondrous rare and strange;
And in my soul and inward thought 95
It wrought a sudden change:
That I so hardy grew,
To take her by the hand:
Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you
So dull and pensive stand? 100
Call me no mistress now,
But Sarah, thy true friend,
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee,
Until her life hath end.
If thou wouldst here alledge, 105
Thou art in years a boy;
So was Adonis, yet was he
Fair Venus' only joy.
Thus I, who ne'er before
Of woman found such grace, 110
But seeing now so fair a dame
Give me a kind embrace,
I supt with her that night,
With joys that did abound;
And for the same paid presently, 115
In money twice three pound.