XIV.

Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd, Unto the siege by you abandon’d quite. Great shame it is to leave, like one afrayd, So fayre a peece* for one repulse so light. ’Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater might Then those small forts which ye were wont belay**: Such haughty mynds, enur’d to hardy fight, Disdayne to yield unto the first assay. Bring therefore all the forces that ye may, And lay incessant battery to her heart; Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and dismay; Those engins can the proudest love convert: And, if those fayle, fall down and dy before her; So dying live, and living do adore her. [l _Peece_, fortress.] [** _Belay_, beleaguer.]