O great corrector of enormous times, Shaker of oer-rank states, thou grand decider Of dusty and old titles, that healest with blood The earth when it is sick, and curest the world O the pleurisy of people!
Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman s fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care, Cause anothers rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be?3