16 Poem by Mary Wroth

Am I thus conquer'd? hame I lost the powers,
That to withstand, which joyes to ruine me?
Must I bee still, while it my strength devoures,
And captive leads me prisoner bound, unfree?
Love first shall leave mens phant'sies to them free,
Desire shall quench loves flames, Spring, hate sweet showres;
Love shall loose all his Darts, have sight, and see
His shame and wishings, hinder happy houres.
Why should we not loves purblinde charmes resist?
Must we be servile, doing what he list?
No, seeke some hoste too harbour thee: I flye
Thy babish tricks, and freedome doe professe;
But O my hurt makes my lost heart confesse:
I love, and must; so farewell liberty.