Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/45

Rh none beguiled be by Time's quick flowing, Lovers have in their hearts a clock still going; For, though time be nimble, his motions Are quicker And thicker Where love hath his notions.

Hope is the main-spring on which moves desire; And these do the less wheels, Fear, Joy, inspire: The balance is Thought, evermore Clicking And striking, And ne'er giving o'er.

Occasion's the hand which still 's moving round, Till by it the critical hour may be found; And, when that falls out, it will strike Kisses, Strange blisses, And what you best like.

now, since I sat down before That foolish fort, a heart, (Time strangely spent), a year and more, And still I did my part,

Made my approaches, from her hand Unto her lip did rise, And did already understand The language of her eyes;

Proceeded on with no less art— My tongue was engineer: I thought to undermine the heart By whispering in the ear.

When this did nothing, I brought down Great cannon-oaths, and shot A thousand thousand to the town; And still it yielded not.