"When her armes
Able to lock love from a synod, shall
By warranting moon-light corslet thee; O, when
Her twinning cherries shall sweetness fall
Upon thy tastefull lips, what willt thow thinke
Of rotten kings or blubber'd queens? What care
For what thou feelst not, what thou feelts beinh able
To make Mars spurn his drom? O, if thou couch
But one night with her, every hour in't shall
Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and