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Where is that holy fire which verse is said To haue, is that enchantinge force decayd? Verse, that drawes Natures woorkes from natures law Thee her best work, to her worke cannot draw. Haue my teares quencht my old Poetique fire? Why quencht they not as well that of desire? Thoughts my mindes creatures often are with thee, But I their maker want their libertie; Only thyne Image in my hart doeth sitt, But that is wax, and fires enuiron itt My fires haue driuen, thine haue drawne it hence; And I am robd of Picture, Hart, and sence; Dwells with mee still myne irkesome Memorie Which both to keepe and loose griues equallie That tells mee how faire thou art: Thou art soe faire As Gods, when gods to thee I doe compaire, Are grast therby; and to make blynde men see What thinges Gods are, I say they are like to thee, For if wee iustly call each syllie man A littell world, what shall wee call thee than? Thou art not softe, and cleere, and strait, and faire As Downe as Starrs Cedars and lillies are But thy right hand, and cheeke, and eye onlye Are like thy other hand, and cheeke and Eie, Such was my Phao a while, but shall bee neuer As thou wast, art, and oh, maist bee ever Heere Louers sweare in theire Idolatrie That I am such, but greife discolours mee; |
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