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O she doth teach the torches to burn bright.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear (1.5.)
I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt’rest gall (1.5.)
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss (1.5.)
You kiss by th’book (1.5.)
Prodigious birth of love is it to me
That I must love a loathed enemy (1.5.)
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