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.