 | Poems (1872) |  |
FORTUNE NEVER FAILS.
What if I come to my mistris' bedd,
The candles all ecclip'st from shyninge:
Shall I then attempt for her mayden-head,
Or showe my selfe a coward by declyninge?
Oh noe,
Fie, do not soe;
For thus much I knowe by devyninge,
Blynd is Love,
The darke it doth approve
To pray on pleasures pantinge;
What needs light
For Cupid in ye night,
If jealous eyes be wantinge?
The candles all ecclip'st from shyninge:
Shall I then attempt for her mayden-head,
Or showe my selfe a coward by declyninge?
Oh noe,
Fie, do not soe;
For thus much I knowe by devyninge,
Blynd is Love,
The darke it doth approve
To pray on pleasures pantinge;
What needs light
For Cupid in ye night,
If jealous eyes be wantinge?
Fortune neuer fayles, if she bidd take place,
To shroud all the faire proceedings:
Love and she, though blynd, yet each other embrace
To favor all their servants' meetings.
Venture, I say,
To sport and to play,
If in place all be fittinge;
Though she say fie,
Yet doth she not denie,
For fie is but a word of tryall:
Jealosie doth sleepe;
Then doe not weepe
At force of a faynt denyall.
To shroud all the faire proceedings:
Love and she, though blynd, yet each other embrace
To favor all their servants' meetings.
256
To sport and to play,
If in place all be fittinge;
Though she say fie,
Yet doth she not denie,
For fie is but a word of tryall:
Jealosie doth sleepe;
Then doe not weepe
At force of a faynt denyall.
Glorious is my loue, worth tryvmphs in her face;
Then too-too bould were I to ventvr:
Whoe loues, deserues to liue in princes' grace;
Why stand you then affraid to enter?
Lights are all out,
Then make noe doubt,
A louer bouldly may take chusinge.
Bewtie is a baite
For a princely mate.
Fye, why stand you then a musing?
Yow'le repent too late,
If she doe you hate
For love's delight refusinge.
Then too-too bould were I to ventvr:
Whoe loues, deserues to liue in princes' grace;
Why stand you then affraid to enter?
Lights are all out,
Then make noe doubt,
A louer bouldly may take chusinge.
Bewtie is a baite
For a princely mate.
Fye, why stand you then a musing?
Yow'le repent too late,
If she doe you hate
For love's delight refusinge.
| Poems (1872) | |