Can so much Beauty own a mind? 
Oreswayd by tyranny, 
As new afflicting wayes to finde, 
A doubtles faith to try, 
and all example to out-do, 
to scorn and make me jealous too; 
Alasse! shee knowes my fires are too too great; 
   And though shee bee, 
   Stone ice to mee, 
Her thaw to others cannot quench my heat. 

That Law which with such force o're ran
The Armies of my heart,
When no one thought I could out man,
That durst once take my part.
For by assault she did invade,
No composition to be made:
Then, since all must yeeld as well as I
   To stand in aw
   Of Victors Law
Ther's no prescribing in captivity.

That Love which loves for common ends,
Is but selfe loving love,
But nobler conversation tends
Soule mysteries to prove.
And since Love is a passive thing,
It multiplies by suffering.
Then, though she throw life to the waning Moon,
   On him her shine,
   The dark part mine,
Yet I must love her still when all is done.