At A Wedding

Of thee, kind boy, I ask no red and white, To make up my delight; No odd becoming graces,

I will not love one minute more, I swear! No, not a minute! Not a sigh or

If you refuse me once, and think again, I will complain. You are deceiv'd, love is no work of art, It must be got and born

When, dearest I but think of thee, Methinks all things that lovely be   Are present, and my soul delighted: For beauties that from worth Are like the grace of deities,   Still present with us, tho’ unsighted.

I prithee spare me gentle boy, Press me no more for that slight toy, That foolish trifle of an heart; I swear it will not do its part,

HY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win…

No, no, fair heretic, it needs must But an ill love in me, And worse for thee. For were it in my

That none beguiled be by Time's quick flowing, Lovers have in their hearts a clock still going; For, though Time be nimble, his Are