Sweet Love, If Thou Wilt Gain

Sweet love, if thou wilt gain a monarch-s glory,
Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry,
Out of thy golden quiver,
Take thou the strongest arrow,
That will, thro- bone and marrow,
And me and thee of grief and fear deliver;
But come behind, for if she look upon thee,
Alas! poor love, then thou art woebegone thee.