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Richard Lovelace - Courante Monsieur.
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  That frown, Aminta, now hath drown`d
    Thy bright front`s pow`r, and crown`d
                    Me that was bound.
  No, no, deceived cruel, no!
                    Love`s fiery darts,
Till tipt with kisses, never kindle hearts.

  Adieu, weak beauteous tyrant, see!
    Thy angry flames meant me,
                    Retort on thee:
  For know, it is decreed, proud fair,
                    I ne`r must dye
By any scorching, but a melting, eye.
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