If ye imagine I am too free a Lover, And act that part belongs to you, I am silent: Mine eyes shall speak my blushes, parly with ye; I will not touch your hand, but with a tremble Fitting a Vestal Nun; not long to kiss ye, But gently as the Air, and undiscern'd too, I'le steal it thus: I'le walk your shadow by ye, So still and silent that it shall be equal, To put me off, as that, and when I covet, To give such toyes as these Arn.

[Footnote A: Here in the Quarto: The very place puts toyes of desperation Without more motiue, into euery braine That lookes so many fadoms to the sea And heares it rore beneath.]