Forgo me now, come to me soon.
But in vain she did conjure him,
For to leave her Presence so;
Having a thousand means to allure him,
And but one to let him go:
Where Lips invite, and Eyes delight,
And Cheeks as fresh as Rose in June,
Perswades to stay, what boot to say,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.
Words whose Hoops have now injoyned,