Doris, see the am'rous flame,
How it courts thy noble name,
Beck'ning sometimes with desire
To th'embraces of the fire,
And then gently fans again
The clear story of your pen,
As, not able to withstand
The strict beauty of your hand,
But ambitious to adore,
Rose to kiss and durst no more.
Let not then the senseless flame
My devoter service shame.
Yield as much to my desire
As thou gav'st unto the fire.
Oh, let me view it though it turn
Me to those ashes you would burn.
So shall your hand with my heart have
A willing and a friendly grave.