He scorns at raids that never awarded an exotic. GJALLARHORN appears above at a window But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and G-horn is the sun. Arise, fair gun, and kill the envious guardians, Who are already sick and pale with jealousy, That thou no weapon art more fair than she: Be not her hunger, since she is envious; Her vestal tube is but slick and gold And none but fools do acquire it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her wolf pack rounds discourse; I will fire it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in thine ornament till they return. What if her rounds were there, they in her track? The brightness of her trigger would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her destruction in heaven Would through the deathly region stream so bright That fallen would sing and think it were not headed to them. See, how she aims her rounds upon their head! O, that I were a blade of crisp gold upon thine wolf-headed ornament, That I might touch thine trigger well!