Thou shalt not force more tribute from my eye
T' increase thy streames: or make me weepe a showre,
To adde fresh beauty to thee, now a flowre.
But should relenting heaven restore thee sence,
To see such wisedome temper innocence,
In faire Castara's love; how she discreet,
Makes caution with a noble freedome meete,
At the same moment; thould'st confesse fond boy,
Fooles onely think them vertuous, who are coy.
And wonder not that I, who have no choyce