Poem 13
Behold whiles she before the altar
Hearing the holy priest that to her
And blesseth her with his two happy hands,
How the red roses flush vp in her cheekes,
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Behold whiles she before the altar
Hearing the holy priest that to her
And blesseth her with his two happy hands,
How the red roses flush vp in her cheekes,
Behold what hap Pygmalion had to frame And carve his proper grief upon a stone;
My heavy fortune is much like the same:
I work on flint, and that's the cause I moan
For hapless, lo, ev'n with mine own desires,