|
Twicknam garden. |
|
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with teares, |
Hither I come to seeke the spring, |
And at mine eyes, and at mine eares, |
Receive such balmes, as else cure every thing, |
But O, selfe traytor, I do bring |
The spider love, which transubstantiates all, |
And can convert Manna to gall, |
And that this place may thoroughly be thought |
True Paradise, I have the serpent brought. |
|
'Twere wholsomer for mee, that winter did |
Benight the glory of this place, |
And that a grave frost did forbid |
These trees to laugh and mocke mee to my face; |
But that I may not this disgrace |
Indure, nor yet leave loving, Love let mee |
Some senslesse peece of this place bee; |
Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here, |
Or a stone fountaine weeping out my yeare. |
|
Hither with christall vyals, lovers come, |
And take my teares, which are loves wine, |
And try your mistresse Teares at home, |
For all are false, that tast not just like mine; |
Alas, hearts do not in eyes shine, |
Nor can you more judge womens thoughts by teares,
|
[CW: Then] |