Elegy XVI. Ah, were my tears, as many writers’ be

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

AH, were my tears, as many writers’ be,

Mere drops of ink proceeding from my pen!

Then in these sable weeds, you should not see

Me severed from society of men!

Ah me! all colours do mine eyes displease,

Save those two colours of pure white, and red!

And yet I dare not flourish it in these,

Because I cannot! For my colour’s dead.

Those colours flourish round about each where,

But chiefly with my Mistress, in their kind:

And fain I would her lovely colours wear;

So that it might be pleasing to her mind!

But nought will please her over-cruel eye,

But black and pale, on body, and in face;

Then She triumphs in beauty’s tyranny,

When she sees Beauty, Beauty can disgrace!

When her sweet smiling eyes dry VESTA’s throne!

Can blubbered blear-eyes, drown in seas of tears!

And laughs to hear poor lovers, how they moan!

Joys in the paper, which her praises bears!

And, for his sake than sent, that schedule tears!

What but pale Envy doth her heart assail?

When She would be still fair, and laugh alone;

And, for her sake, all others mourn and pale!