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.