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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AN ELEGIE, by JOHN ROE First Line: True love findes witt, but he whose witt doth move Last Line: Thinking to share the sport, but not the sinne. | |||
True Love findes witt, but he whose witt doth move Him to love, confesses he doth not love: And from his witt, passions and true desire Are forc'd as hard, as from the flint is fire. My love's all fire whose flames my soule do nurse, Whose smokes are sighes; whose every sparke's a verse. Doth measure women win? Then I know why Most of our Ladies with the Scotts doe lie. A Scott is measur'd in each syllable, terse And smooth as a verse: and like that smooth verse Is shallow, and wants matter, but in his handes, And they are rugged; Her state better standes Whom dauncing measures tempted, not the Scott: In brief she's out of measure, lost, soe gott. Greene-sickness wenches, (not needes must but) may Looke pale, breathe short; at Court none so long stay. Good witt ne're despair'd there, or Ay me said: For never Wench at Court was ravished. And shee but cheates on Heaven, whom you so winne, Thinking to share the sport, but not the sinne. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REFLECTING ON HIS PASSION FOR HIS MISTRISSE by JOHN ROE TO BEN JONSON, 6 JAN. 1603 by JOHN ROE TO BEN JONSON, 9 NOVEMBRIS, 1603 by JOHN ROE TO SR. NICHOLAS SMYTH by JOHN ROE COMRADE JESUS by SARAH NORCLIFFE CLEGHORN THE SKELETON OF THE FUTURE; AT LENIN'S TOMB by CHRISTOPHER MURRAY GRIEVE |
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