A Description of Beauty, translated out of Marino.
1
O beauty (beames, nay flame
Of that great lampe of light)
That shines a while, with fame,
But presently makes night:
Like Winters short-liu'd bright,
Or Summers suddaine gleames,
How much more deare, so much losse-lasting beames.
2
Wing'd Loue away doth flye,
And with it time doth beare;
And both take suddainly
The sweate, the faine, the deare:
A shining day, and cleare,
Succeedes an obscene night,
And sorrow is the hewe of sweet delight.
3
With what then dost thou swell,
O youth of new-borne day?
Wherein doth thy pride dwell
O beauty made of clay?
Not with to swift away
The headlong corrant flyes,
As do the sparkling rayes of two faire eyes.
4
Do not thy selfe betray
VVith wantonizing yeares:
O beauty, traytors gay,
Thy melting life that weares,
Appearing, disappeares,
And with thy flying dayes,
Ends all thy good of price, thy faire of prayse.
5
Trust not, vaine creditor
Thy apt deceiued view,
In thy false counsellor,
That neuer tels thee true:
Thy forme, and flattred hew,
Which shall so soone transpasse,
Is farre more faire, then is thy looking-glasse.
6
Inioy thy Aprill now,
Whilst it doth freely shine;
This lightning flash and show,
With that cleare spirit of thine,
Will suddainly decline;
And thou faire murthering eyes
Shalbe loues tombes, where now his cradle lyes.
7
Old trembling age will come,
With wrinkled cheekes, and staines,
With motion troublesome,
With skinne and bloodlesse veines,
That liuely visage reauen,
And made deform'd and old,
Hates sight of glasse, it lou'd so to behold.
8
Thy gold, and scarlet shall
Pale siluer colour bee,
Thy rowe of pearles shall fall
Like withred leaues from tree;
And thou shalt shortly see
Thy face and haire to grow
All plough'd with furrowes, ouer-sowne with snow.
9
That which on Flora's brest,
All fresh and flourishing,
Aurora newly drest,
Saw in her dawning spring;
Quite dry and languishing
Depriu'd of honour quite,
Day-closing Hesperus beholds at night.
10
Faire is the Lilly, faire
The Rose, of flowers the eye;
Both wither in the ayre,
Their beautious colours die;
And so at length shall lye
Depriu'd of former grace,
The lillies of thy brests, the roses of thy face.
11
What then wilt it auaile,
O youth aduised ill,
In lap of beauty fraile
To nurse a way-ward will;
Like snake in sunne-warme hill?
Plucke, plucke, betime thy flower,
That springs, and parcheth in one short howre.
