In many's looks the false heart's history
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;
To make him moan; but pity not his moans:
That he shall never cut from memory
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
That they have ******'d this poor heart of mine;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Receives the scroll without or yea or no,
Proving from world's minority their right:
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.
Let fair humanity abhor the deed
Since all alike my songs and praises be
First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
My honour lost, and I, a drone-like bee,
My saucy bark inferior far to his
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
The honey fee of parting tender'd is:
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings