| |
| I DO confess thou’rt smooth and fair, | |
| And I might have gone near to love thee, | |
| Had I not found the slightest prayer | |
| That lips could move, had power to move thee; | |
| But I can let thee now alone | 5 |
| As worthy to be loved by none. | |
| |
| I do confess thou’rt sweet; yet find | |
| Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, | |
| Thy favours are but like the wind | |
| That kisseth everything it meets: | 10 |
| And since thou canst with more than one, | |
| Thou’rt worthy to be kiss’d by none. | |
| |
| The morning rose that untouch’d stands | |
| Arm’d with her briars, how sweet she smells! | |
| But plucked and strain’d through ruder hands, | 15 |
| Her sweets no longer with her dwells: | |
| But scent and beauty both are gone, | |
| And leaves fall from her, one by one. | |
| |
| Such fate ere long will thee betide | |
| When thou hast handled been awhile, | 20 |
| With sere flowers to be thrown aside; | |
| And I shall sigh, while some will smile, | |
| To see thy love to every one | |
| Hath brought thee to be loved by none. | |
| |
