 | Poems |  |
203
To his jealous Mistris.
Admit (thou darling of mine eyes)
I have some Idoll lately fram'd:
That under such a false disguise,
Our true loves might the lesse be fam'd.
Canst thou that knowest my heart suppose,
'Ile fall from thee, and worship those.
I have some Idoll lately fram'd:
That under such a false disguise,
Our true loves might the lesse be fam'd.
Canst thou that knowest my heart suppose,
'Ile fall from thee, and worship those.
Remember (deare) how loath and slow,
I was to cast a looke or smile,
Or one love-line to mis-bestow,
Till thou hadst chang'd both face and stile.
And art thou growne afraid to see.
That maske put on thou mad'st for me.
I was to cast a looke or smile,
Or one love-line to mis-bestow,
Till thou hadst chang'd both face and stile.
And art thou growne afraid to see.
That maske put on thou mad'st for me.
I dare not call those childish feares,
Comming from love, much lesse from thee,
But wash away with frequent teares,
This counterfeit Idolatrie.
And henceforth kneele at ne're a shrine,
To blind the world, but only thine.
Comming from love, much lesse from thee,
But wash away with frequent teares,
This counterfeit Idolatrie.
And henceforth kneele at ne're a shrine,
To blind the world, but only thine.
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