English

But love whilst that thou maist be lov'd againe,
Now whilst thy May hath fill'd thy lap with flowers,
Now whilst thy beauty beares without a staine,
Now use thy Sommer smiles ere Winter lowers.
And whilst thou spread'st unto the rysing sunne
The fairest flowre that ever sawe the light,
Now joy thy time before thy sweet be done,
And (Delia) thinke thy morning must have night;

Looke, Delia , how wee steeme the half-blowne Rose,
The image of thy blush, and Sommer's honour,
Whilst in her tender greene shee doth inclose
The pure sweet beauty Time bestowes upon her:
No sooner spreades her glory in the ayre,
But straight her ful-blowne pride is in declining;
Shee then is scorn'd, that late adorn'd the fayre:
So clowdes thy beautie, after fairest shining.

I once may see when yeres shall wreck my wrong,
When golden hayres shall change to silver wier:
And those bright rayes that kindle all this fire
Shall faile in force, their working not so stronge;
Then beautie (now the burthen of my song)
Whose glorious blaze the world doth so admire,
Must yeeld up all to tyrant Time's desire:
Then fade those flowers that deckt her pride so long:
When, if she grieve to gaze her in the glasse,
Which then presents her winter-withered hew,
Goe you, my verse, goe tell her what she was,

O why doth Delia credite so her glasse,
Gazing her beautie deign'd her by the skyes,
And doth not rather looke on him (alas)
Whose state best shewes the force of murthering eyes?
The broken tops of loftie trees declare
The furie of a mercy-wanting storme;
And of what force your wounding graces are,
Upon my selfe you best may finde the forme
Then leave your glasse, and gaze your selfe on mee:

Raysing my hopes on hills of high desire,
Thinking to scale the heaven of her hart,
My slender meanes presum'd too high a part;
Her thunder of disdaine forst me retyre,
And threw mee downe to paine in all this fire,
Where, loe, I languish in so heavie smart,
Because th'attempt was farre above my arte:
Her pride brook'd not poore soules shold come so nie her
Yet I protest my high aspyring will
Was not to dispossesse her of her right:
Her soveraignty should have remained still,
I onely sought the blisse to have her sight

And yet I cannot reprehend the flight,
Or blame th'attempt presuming so to sore:
The mounting venter for a high delight
Did make the honour of the fall the more.
For who gets wealth that puts not from the shore?
Daunger hath honour, great designes their fame,
Glorie doth follow, courage goes before.
And though th'event oft aunswers not the same,
Suffise that high attempts have never shame.
The Meane-observer, (whom base Safety keepes,)
Lives without honour, dies without a name,
And in eternall darkness ever sleepes.

The starre of my mishap impos'd this paine,
To spend the Aprill of my yeeres in wayling,
That ever found my fortune on the wayne,
With still fresh cares my present woes assayling
Yet her I blame not, though for her 'tis done,
But my desire's wings so high aspyring,
Which now are melted by that glorious Sunne,
That makes me fall from off my hie desiring
And in my fall, I cry for helpe with speed:

Oft do I mervaile, whether Delia's eyes
Are eyes, or else two radiant starres that shine:
For how could Nature ever thus devise
Of earth on earth a substance so divine?
Starrs sure they are, whose motions rule desires,
And calme and tempest follow their aspects:
Their sweet appearing still such power inspires,
That makes the world admire so strange effects

Still in the trace of my tormented thought,
My ceaseless cares must martch on to my death:
Thy least regarde too deerelie have I bought,
Who to my comfort never deign'st a breath.
Why should'st thou stop thine eares now to my cryes,
Whose eyes were open, ready to oppresse me?
Why shutt'st thou not the cause whence al did rise,
Or heare me now, and seeke how to redress me?

Alluding to the sparrow pursued by a Hauke that flew into the bosome of Zenocrates

Whilst by her eyes pursu'd, my poore hart flew it
Into the sacred bosome of my deerest,
She there in that sweete sanctuarie slew it,
Where it presum'd his safetie to be neerest
My priviledge of faith could not protect it,
That was with blood and three yeres' witnes signed;
In all which time she never could suspect it,