PRESSE me not to take more pleasure In this world of sugred lies, And to use a larger measure Than my strict, yet welcome size. First, there is no pleasure here: Colour'd griefs indeed there are, Blushing woes, that look as cleare As if they could beautie spare. Or, if such deceits there be, Such delights I meant to say; There are no such things to me, Who have pass'd my right away. But I will not much oppose Unto what you now advise: Onely take this gentle rose, And therein my answer lies. What is fairer then a rose? What is sweeter? yet it purgeth. Purgings enmitie disclose, Enmitie forbearance urgeth. If then all that wordlings prize Be contracted to a rose; Sweetly there indeed it lies, But it biteth in the close. So this flower doth judge and sentence Wordly joyes to be a scourge; For they all produce repentance, And repentance is a purge. But I health, not physick, choose: Onely though I you oppose, Say that fairly I refuse; For my answer is a rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HER EYES by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON MY LADY'S PLEASURE by ROBERT GRAHAM SNAKE by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE FESSEDEN'S GARDEN by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN LINES TO A FITFUL LOVER by MIRIAM BARRANGER WINTER BURIAL by HENRY BELLAMANN PEACE ON EARTH by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |