Sonnet I

Dost see how unregarded now
That piece of beauty passes?

There was a time when I did vow
To that alone;
But mark the fate of faces;

The red and white works now no more on

Than if it could not charm, or I not see.

And yet the face continues good,
And I have still desires,

Am still the selfsame flesh and blood,
As apt to melt
And suffer from those fires;

Oh some kind pow'r unriddle where it lies,

Whether my heart be faulty, or her eyes?

She ev'ry day her man does kill,
And I as often die;

Neither her power then, nor my will
Can question'd be.
What is the mystery?

Sure beauty's empires, like to greater states,

Have certain periods set, and hidden fates.