Sonnet Ccxcii:

Beloved, thou cam 'st to me of late and said; 'Stay with me, Dearest! Stay another day! Stay thou because I wish it. Prithee lay To heart my prayer, even as I lay thy head!' Duty, a phantom warrior, drew his blade, And sternly motioned doubtful me away. Thou saw'st thy foe, and turned the awful ray Of pleading eyes upon the hateful shade. What followed, think'st thou? Duty, like poor me, Dropped hastily his weapon, tried to bend His wits, as a time-server's, to thy end. He laughed, cringed, fawned, a very fool was he; His sword a whisking bauble. Well, and we?-- Ah! that was yesterday--you comprehend.