Samuel Daniel

Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose, The image of thy blush and summer's honour, Whilst in her tender green she doth enclose That pure sweet beauty time bestows upon her. No sooner spreads her glory in the air But straight her full-blown pride is in declining; She then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair: So clouds thy beauty after fairest shining. No April can revive thy wither'd flowers, Whose blooming grace adorns thy beauty now; Swift speedy time, feather'd with flying hours, Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow. O let not then such riches waste in vain, But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again.

Look, Delia, how w' esteem the half-blown rose, The image of thy blush and summer's honour, Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose That full of beauty Time bestows upon her. No sooner spreads her glory in the air But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline; She then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair; So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine. No April can revive thy wither'd flowers Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now; Swift speedy Time, feather'd with flying hours, Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow. Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain, But love now, whilst thou mayst be lov'd again.

Go wailing verse, the infants of my love, Minerva-like, brought forth without a Mother: Present the image of the cares I prove, Witness your Father’s grief exceeds all other. Sigh out a story of her cruel deeds, With interrupted accents of despair: A monument that whosoever reads, May justly praise, and blame my loveless Fair. Say her disdain hath dried up my blood, And starved you, in succours still denying: Press to her eyes, importune me some good; Waken her sleeping pity with your crying. Knock at that hard heart, beg till you have moved her; And tell th’unkind, how dearly I have loved her.

Unto the boundless Ocean of thy beauty Runs this poor river, charged with streams of zeal: Returning thee the tribute of my duty, Which here my love, my youth, my plaints reveal. Here I unclasp the book of my charged soul, Where I have cast th'accounts of all my care: Here have I summed my sighs, here I enroll How they were spent for thee; look what they are. Look on the dear expenses of my youth, And see how just I reckon with thine eyes: Examine well thy beauty with my truth, And cross my cares ere greater sum arise. Read it sweet maid, though it be done but slightly; Who can show all his love, doth love but lightly.

Are they shadows that we see? And can shadows pleasure give? Pleasures only shadows be Cast by bodies we conceive And are made the things we deem In those figures which they seem. But these pleasures vanish fast Which by shadows are expressed; Pleasures are not, if they last; In their passing is their best. Glory is most bright and gay In a flash, and so away. Feed apace then, greedy eyes, On the wonder you behold; Take it sudden as it flies, Though you take it not to hold. When your eyes have done their part, Thought must length it in the heart.