With no fresh charme of beauty tooke,
Or wanton stratagem of wit;
Not Idly wandring here and there,
Led by an am'rous eye or eare.
Ayming each beautious marke to hit;
Which vertue doth to one confine:
Take thou that heart, Castara, for 'tis mine.
And now my heart is lodg'd with thee,
Observe but how it still
Doth listen how thine doth with me;