Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/21

Oh pitty gan she cry, flint-hearted boy,
'Tis but a kiss I beg, why art thou coy?

I have been woo'd, as I intreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful God of War,
Whose sinowy neck in battel ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar:
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And beg'd for that which thou unaskt shalt have.

Over my Altars hath he hung his Launce,
His battred Shield, his uncontrolled Crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To coy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest,
Scorning his churlish Drum, and Ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

Thus he that over-rul'd, I over-sway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red Rose chain:
Strong tempred steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastring her that foil'd the God of Fight.

Touch but my lips with those falr lips of thine,
(Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red)
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eye-balls where thy beauty lies,
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes on eyes?

Art