et a braver th spring,

    o keep t hid.

    It  madness noo impart

    tone,

    to cut it, can find none.

    So, if I noer this,

    Others—because no more

    Sucuff to here is—

    ould love but as before.

    But hin

    hes,

    For he who color loves, and skin,

    Loves but t clothes.

    If, as I have, you also do

    Virtue in woman see,

    And dare love t, and say so too,

    And forget the he and She ;

    And if though plac鑔 so,

    From profane men you hide,

    ow,

    Or, if they do, deride ;

    thing

    thies did ;

    And a braver thence will spring,

    o keep t hid.

    BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,

    thus,

    tains, call on us ?

    Must to tions lovers seasons run ?

    Saucy pedantic ch, go chide

    Late scices,

    Go tell court-smen t the king will ride,

    Call country ants to  offices ;

    Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,

    Nor ime.

    trong

    think ?

    I could eclipse and cloud th a wink,

    But t I  lose  so long.

    If  blinded thine,

    Look, and to-morroe tell me,

    h Indias of spice and mine

    Be  th me.

    Ask for t yesterday,

    And t ;All ;

    Sates, and all princes I ;

    Nothing else is ;

    Princes do but play us ; compared to this,

    All h alchemy.

    t half as happy as we,

    In t tracted thus ;

    ties be

    to s done in warming us.