|The basest Iewell wil be well esteem'd:
So are those errors that in thee are seene,
To truths translated,and for true things deem'd.
How many Lambs might the sterne Wolfe betray,
If like a Lambe he could his lookes translate.
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst vse the strength of all thy state?
But doe not so,I loue thee in such sort,
As thou being mine,mine is thy good report.
|What old Decembers barenesse euery where?
And yet this time remou'd was sommers time,
The teeming Autumne big with ritch increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widdowed wombes after their Lords decease:
Yet this aboundant issue seem'd to me,
But hope of Orphans,and vn-fathered fruite,
For Sommer and his pleasures waite on thee,
And thou away,the very birds are mute.
Or if they sing,tis with so dull a cheere,
That leaues looke pale,dreading the Winters neere.
|Hath put a spirit of youth in euery thing:
That heauie Saturne.laught and leapt with him.
Yet nor the laies of birds,nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hew,
Could make me any summers story tell:
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the Lillies white,
Nor praise the deepe vermillion in the Rose,
They weare but sweet,but figures of delight: