Honour

She loves, and she confesses too;
There's then at last, no more to do.
The happy work's entirely done;
Enter the town which thou hast won;
The fruits of conquest now begin;
Io triumph! Enter in.

What's this, ye Gods, what can it be?
Remains there still an enemy?
Bold honour stands up in the gate,
And would yet capitulate;
Have I o'recome all real foes,
And shall this phantom me oppose?

Noisy Nothing! stalking Shade!
By what witchcraft wert thou made?
Empty cause of solid harms!
But I shall find out counter-charms
Thy airy devilship to remove
From this circle here of love.

Sure I shall rid myself of thee
By the night's obscurity,
And obscurer secrecy.
Unlike to every other spright,
Thou attempt'st not men t'affright,
Nor appear'st but in the light.

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