T'imagine then that Love should never cease (Love, which is but the ornament of these) Were quite as senseless, as to wonder why Beauty and colour stay not when we die. NOT FAIR. 'T IS very true, I thought you once as fair Whatever here seems beauteous, seem'd to be But then, methoughts, there something shin'd within, Which cast this lustre o'er thy skin; Nor could I choose but count it the sun's light, A very Moor, methinks, plac'd near to thee, Then they start from 't, half ghosts themselves with So, since against my will I found thee foul, My reason straight did to my senses shew, Nay, when the world but knows how false you are, you fair; Thy shape will monstrous in their fancies be, They'll call their eyes as false as thee. Be what thou wilt, hate will present thee so PLATONICK LOVE. INDEED I must confess, When souls mix 't is an happiness; In thy immortal part Man, as well as I, thou art; But something 't is that differs thee and me; Can that for true love pass, When a fair woman courts her glass? Something unlike must in love's likeness be; For he, whose soul nought but a soul can move, Does a new Narcissus prove, And his own image love. That souls do beauty know, "T is to the bodies' help they owe; If, when they know 't, they straight abuse that trust, As if I brought my dearest friend to see THE CHANGE. LOVE in her sunny eyes does basking play; Within, Love's foes, his greatest foes, abide, So, the earth's face trees, herbs, and flowers, do dress, With other beauties numberless; But at the centre darkness is, and hell; There wicked spirits, and there the damned, dwell. With me, alas! quite contrary it fares; Keeps his proud court, and ne'er is seen. Oh! take my heart, and by that means you'll prove Within too stor❜d enough of love : Give me but yours, I'll by that change so thrive, So powerful is this change, it render can CLAD ALL IN WHITE. FAIREST thing that shines below, Than winter when 't is clad with snow. 'T is not the linen shews so fair; Her skin shines through, and makes it bright: The glass will seem as white as those. .Thou now one heap of beauty art; Such robes the saints departed wear, Yet, seeing thee so gently pure, Of peace and yielding who would doubt, J |