When I love, as some have
Love I shall, when I am old,
O ye Graces! make me
For the welcoming of it!
Clean my rooms, as temples be,
To entertain that deity;
Give me words wherewith to woo,
Suppling and successful too;
Winning postures; and withal,
Manners each way musical;
Sweetness to allay my
And unsmooth behaviour:
For I know you have the
Vines to prune, though not to kill;
And of any wood ye see,
You can make a Mercury.
