Endeavours he. This was his last device,
Yet in so humble strains, this Gallant courts her;
The wind being high, his breath it never hurts her!
Speechless thus stands he, till She feared him dead,
And rubs his temples, calls and cries for aid.
Water is fetched and spunged into his head:
Who then starts up; from dreaming, as he said,
And craving absence of all, but this Saint,
He 'gan to court her, but with a heart right faint.