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.