University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
Poems

By Thomas Philipott

collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
To a Gentlewoman viewing her selfe in her glasse.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


25

To a Gentlewoman viewing her selfe in her glasse.

Cruell faire one, think this Glasse,
Wherein you now behold your face,
Was compos'd of one who dyed
For love of you, since he applyed
His liquid and dissolving eyes,
So long with teares to sacrifice
To your disdaine, that to relieve
His Bankrupt and impoverish'd griefe
With a fresh stock of moysture, hee
Melted to a spring, which see
The cold, but charitable North,
(Lest a fountaine of such worth
Should, by vulgar lips, be tasted,
Or profanely be exhausted)
Congeal'd into a Chrystall Masse,
Of which was form'd this Looking-glasse:
And as your Figure faire did rest,
Within this Lovers living brest,
So still you see it doth appeare,
Though turn'd to Chrystall, harbour'd there.