Sidor som bilder

Ere with their glancing wheels they drive
In triumph over hearts that strive,
And them that yield but more despise.

Let me be laid,
Where I may see the glorys from some shade.

Meantime, whilst every verdant thing

Itself does at thy beauty charm,
Reform the errors of the spring:
Make that the tulips may have share
Of sweetness, seeing they are fair;
And roses of their thorns disarm :

But most procure,
That violets may a longer age endure.

But O, young beauty of the woods,
Whom Nature courts with fruits and

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds;
Lest Flora, angry at thy crime
To kill her infants in their prime,
Should quickly make th' example yours;

And ere we see, Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes in thee.



In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth Of fondest beauty. Sideway his face re

posed On one white arm, and tenderly unclosed, By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth To slumbery pout; just as the morning

south Disparts a dew-lipp'd rose. Above his head, Four lily stalks did their wbite honours wed To make a coronal; and round him grew All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue, Together intertwined and trammel'd fresh: The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh, Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine, Of velvet leaves, and bugle blooms divine.

Hard by, Stood serene Cupids watching silently. One, kneeling to a lyre, touch'd the strings, Muffling to death the pathos with his wings; And, ever and anon, uprose to look At the youth's slumber; while another took

A willow bough, distilling odorous dew,
And shook it on his hair; another flew
In through the woven roof, and fluttering,

Rain'd violets upon his sleeping eyes.



Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends, with the remover to remove:
O no! It is an ever fixéd mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height

be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and

cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come;


Love alters not with his brief hours and

weeks, But bears it out, e'en to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me prov’d,
I never writ, and no man ever lov'd.



Hall, thou fairest of all creatures
Upon whom the sun doth shine;
Model of all rarest features,
And perfections most divine.

Thrice all hail! and blessed be
Those that love and honour thee.

This, thy picture, therefore shew I
Naked unto every eye,
Yet no feare of rival know I,
Neither touch of jealousie;

For, the more make love to thee,
I the more shall pleased be.

I am no Italian lover,
That will mew thee in a jayle;
But, thy beautie I discover,
English-like, without a vail;

If thou mayst be won away,
Win and wear thee he that may.

Yet, in this thou mayst believe me;
(So indifferent tho’ I seem)
Death with tortures would not grieve me,
More than loss of thy esteem;

For, if virtue me forsake,
All, a scorn of me will make.

Then, as I on thee relying
Doe no changing feare in thee;
So, by my defects supplying,
From all changing, keep thou me.

That, unmatched we may prove,
Thou, for beautie; I, for love.


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