Your eyes are two grey Puritans,
Your mouth's a laughing Cavalier;
And all day long a civil war
Between them doth appear.
For though your mouth's enchanting curves
To hopes of love most swiftly move me,
Yet, when my ardour bids me speak,
Your steadfast eyes reprove me.
While if I strive, with calmer thoughts,
To meet your eyes on friendship's level,
Your mouth, my dear inconsequent,
Becomes the very devil.
I pray you, let this warfare cease!
They cannot fight who captives be.
Come then, my sweetheart-shut your eyes,
And give your lips to me. . . .