The plays & poems of Robert Greene | ||
237
III
DORALICIA'S SONG.
In tyme we see that siluer drops
The craggy stones make soft:
The slowest snaile in tyme, we see,
Doth creepe and clime aloft.
The craggy stones make soft:
The slowest snaile in tyme, we see,
Doth creepe and clime aloft.
With feeble puffes the tallest pine
In tract of time doth fall:
The hardest hart in time doth yeeld
To Venus luring call.
In tract of time doth fall:
The hardest hart in time doth yeeld
To Venus luring call.
Where chilling frost alate did nip,
There flasheth now a fire:
Where deepe disdaine bred noisome hate,
There kindleth now desire.
There flasheth now a fire:
Where deepe disdaine bred noisome hate,
There kindleth now desire.
Time causeth hope to haue his hap,
What care in time not easde?
In time I loathd that now I loue,
In both content and pleasd.
What care in time not easde?
In time I loathd that now I loue,
In both content and pleasd.
The plays & poems of Robert Greene | ||