Hear, ye ladies that are coy,
What the mighty Love can do;
Fear the fierceness of the boy:
chaste Moon he makes to woo;
Vesta, kindling holy fires,
Circled round about with spies,
Doting at the altar dies;
Ilion, in a short hour, higher
He can build, and once more fire.
GOD Lyaeus, ever young,
Ever honourd, ever sung,
Staind with blood of lusty grapes,
thousand lusty shapes
Dance upon the mazers1 brim,
In the crimson liquor swim;
From thy plenteous
Let a river run with wine:
God of youth, let this day here
Enter neither care nor fear.
BEAUTY clear and fair,
Where the air
Rather like a perfume dwells;
Where the violet and the
Their blue veins and blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else:
Where to live near
And planted there
Is to live, and still live new;
Where to gain a favour is
than light, perpetual bliss
Make me live by serving you!
Dear, again back recall
To this light,
A stranger to himself and all!
Both the wonder and the
Shall be yours, and eke the glory;
I am your servant, and your thrall.
HENCE, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly!
naught in this life sweet,
If men were wise to seet,
But only melancholy
O sweetest melancholy!
folded arms and fixàed eyes,
A sight that piercing mortifies,
A look thats fastend to the ground,
chaind up without a sound!
Fountain-heads and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks, when
all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls!
A midnight bell, a parting groan
These are the
sounds we feed upon:
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley,
Nothings so dainty sweet as lovely
WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time thats gone:
Violets pluckd, the
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fates hid ends eyes cannot
Joys as wingàed dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
fair, mourn, mourn no moe.
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