NO, worldling, no; ’tis not thy gold, | |
| Which thou dost use but to behold, | |
| Nor fortune, honour, nor long life, | |
| Children, or friends, or a good wife, | |
| That makes thee happy: these things be | 5 |
| But shadows of felicity. | |
| Give me a wench above thirteen, | |
| Already voted to the Queen | |
| Of Love, and lovers; whose soft hair, | |
| Fann’d with the breath of gentle air, | 10 |
| O’er-spreads her shoulders like a tent, | |
| And is her veil and ornament; | |
| Whose tender touch will make the blood | |
| Wild in the aged and the good; | |
| Whose kisses, fast’ned to the mouth | 15 |
| Of three-score years and longer slouth, 1 | |
| Renew the age; and whose bright eye | |
| Obscures those ‘lesser lights of sky; | |
| Whose snowy breasts (if we may call | |
| That snow, that never melts at all,) | 20 |
| Makes Jove invent a new disguise, | |
| In spite of Juno’s jealousies; | |
| Whose every part doth re-invite | |
| The old decayed appetite: | |
| And in whose sweet embraces I | 25 |
| May melt myself to love, and die. | |
| This is true bliss, and I confess | |
| There is no other happiness. | |
