Never knew straine of fancy; on my breath
Affection never dwelt, but war and death!
But if thou lov'dst to have thy soldiers fight,
Or hearten the spent courages of men,
_Pembrooke_ could use a stile invincible.
Lov'dst thou a towne, Ide teach thee how to woo her
With words of thunder-bullets wrapt in fire,[109]
Till with thy cannon battry she relent
And humble her proud heart to stoop to thee.
Or if not this, then mount thee on a steed
Whose courage never awde an yron Bit,
And thou shalt heare me hollow to the beast
And with commanding accents master him.
This courtship Pembrooke knows, but idle love,
The sick-fac't object of an amorous brayne,
Did never clothe mine eye-balls, never taught
This toung, inurde to broyles and stratagems,
The passionate language of a troubled heart:
I am too blunt and rude for such nice service.
Yet since my friend injoynes me to this taske,
Take courage, Ile both speake, plead, woo for thee,
And when I want fit words to move her mind,
Ile draw my sword and sweare she must be kind.

One may smile at the notion of holloaing "to the beast," but the
whole passage is vigorous, and some single lines (e.g. "The passionate
language of a troubled heart") are excellent.