|
| Goe thither still, goe the same way you went [193] |
| Who ere would change, do couet or repent. |
| Neyther can reach you. Great, and Innocent. |
|
| To the Countesse of Bedford. |
| Twitnam |
|
Madame.
You haue refin'd mee, and to worthiest things, |
| Vertue, art, beauty, fortune; Now I see |
| Rarenesse, or vse, not nature, valew brings |
| And such as they ar circumstanc'd they bee |
| Two Ills can ne're perplex vs sinne t'excuse |
| But of 2 good things wee may leaue and choose |
|
| Therefore at Court, wch is not Vertues Clime, |
| Where a transcendent heigth, (as lownesse mee) |
| Makes her not bee, or not shew, all my Rime |
| Yor vertues challenge w.ch there rarest bee |
| ffor as dark Texts neede notes, some, there, must bee |
| To vsher vertue, and say, This is shee. |
|
| So in the Country is beauty. To this place |
| You ar the season, Madame, you the day |
| Tis but a graue of Spices till yor face |
| Exhale them, and a thick close budd display |
| Widdowd and reclus'd else her sweets she inshrines |
| As China when the Sunn at Brasile dines.
|
[CW: Out___] |