Upon A. M.

Yield all, my love; bur be withal as coyAs if thou knew'st not how to sport and toy:The fort resign'd with ease, men cowards proveAnd lazy grow. Let me besiege my love;Let me despair at least three times a day,5And take repulses upon each essay:If I but ask a kiss, straight blush as redAs if I tempted for thy maidenhead;

Contract thy smiles, if that they go too far,And let thy frowns be such as threaten war:10That face which nature sure never intendedShould e'er be marr'd, because 't could ne'er be mended.Take no corruption from thy grandame Eve;Rather want faith to save thee, than believeToo soon; for credit me 'tis true,15Men most of all enjoy when least they do.