Come Time, the anchor-hold of my desire, 
My last resort whereto my hopes appeal, 
Cause once the date of her disdain t'expire; 
Make her the sentence of her wrath repeal. 
Rob her fair Brow, break in on Beauty, steal 
Power from those eyes, which pity cannot spare; 
Deal with those dainty cheeks as she doth deal 
With this poor heart consumed with despair; 
This heart made now the prospective of care, 
By loving her, the cruelst Fair that lives, 
The cruelst Fair that sees I pine for her, 
And never mercy to my merit gives. 
Let her not still triumph over the prize 
Of mine affections taken by her eyes.