The Fair Singer
To
make
a
final
conquest
of
all
me,
Love
did
compose
so
sweet
an
Enemy,
In
whom
both
Beauties
to
my
death
agree,
Joyning
themselves
in
fatal
Harmony;
That
while
she
with
her
Eyes
my
Heart
does
bind,
She
with
her
Voice
might
captivate
my
Mind.
I
could
have
fled
from
One
but
singly
fair:
My
dis-intangled
Soul
it
self
might
save,
Breaking
the
curled
trammels
of
her
hair.
But
how
should
I
avoid
to
be
her
Slave,
Whose
subtile
Art
invisibly
can
wreath
My
Fetters
of
the
very
Air
I
breath?
It
had
been
easie
fighting
in
some
plain,
Where
Victory
might
hang
in
equal
choice.
But
all
resistance
against
her
is
vain,
Who
has
th'
advantage
both
of
Eyes
and
Voice.
And
all
my
Forces
needs
must
be
undone,
She
having
gained
both
the
Wind
and
Sun.
