Deare Love, continue nice and chaste, For, if you yeeld you doe me wrong, Let duller wits to loves end haste, I have enough to wooe thee long. All paine and joy is in their way; The things we feare bring lesse annoy Then feare; and hope brings greater joy; But in themselves they cannot stay. Small favours will my prayers increase; Granting my suit you give me all, And then my prayers must needs surcease, For, I have made your Godhead fall. Beasts cannot witt nor beauty see, They mans affections onely move; Beasts other sports of love doe prove, With better feeling farre than we. Then Love prolong my suite, for thus By losing sport, I sport doe win; And that may vertue prove in us, Which ever yet hath beene a sinne. My comming neare may spie some ill, And now the world is given to scoffe; To keepe my Love, (then) keepe me off, And so I shall admire thee still. Say I have made a perfect choyce, Satietie our Love may kill; Then give me but thy face and voyce, Mine eye and eare thou canst not fill. To make me rich (oh) be not poore, Give me not all, yet something lend, So I shall still my suite commend, And you at will doe lesse or more. But, if to all you condescend, My love, our sport, your Godhead end. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TRANSPOSITIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BERENICE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NORTH WIND TO DUTIFUL BEAST MIDWAY BETWEEN DIAL & FOOT OF GARDEN CLOCK by MARIANNE MOORE BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE BEAR by EDITH SITWELL COLD HANDS WARM HEART by KAREN SWENSON |