Chloris, we see the offended gods
At first do show and shake their rods,
That they may rather threat, then strike,
So we forego what they dislike.
These faulty streams shall flow no more
Above their banks, as heretofore:
Nor swelling tempest from my breast
Henceforth thy virgin cares molest.
All shall be fashioned to thy will,
So thou wilt let me love thee still:
My lips shall not a word let go,
That may offend to tell thee so:
But to dissemble, or deny
That I do love thee were a lie
Would stain my soul; 'twill prove a spot,
To look as if I loved thee not.