- <poem>
GOOD-WILL, the Master of the Shot, Stood in the rampire brave and proud; For 'spense of powder, he spared not Assault! Assault! to cry aloud.
There might you hear the cannons roar, Each piece discharged a lover's look, Which had the power to rent; and tore In any place whereas it took.
And even with the trumpets' sound, The scaling ladders were up set; And BEAUTY walked up and down With bow in hand, and arrows whet.
Then first DESIRE began to scale, And shrouded him under his targe; As on the worthiest of them all, And aptest for to give the charge.
Then pushèd soldiers with their pikes, And halbardiers with handy strokes. The arquebuse in flesh it lights, And dims the air with misty smokes.
And as it is the soldiers' use, When shot and powder 'gins to want; I hangèd up my flag of truce, And pleaded for my life's grant.
When FANCY thus had made her breach, And BEAUTY entered with her band: With bag and baggage; silly wretch! I yielded into BEAUTY'S hand.
- <poem>
