John Suckling

Out upon it,
I have
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,

'Tis now, since I sat down
That foolish fort, a heart,(Time strangely spent) a year and more,
And still I did my part:
Made my approaches, from her

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

O
for some honest lover’s ghost,   Some kind unbodied post     Sent from the shades below
I strangely long to
Whether the noble chaplets

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

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

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,

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

I am a man of war and might,
And know thus much, that I can fight,
Whether I am in the wrong or right,
Devoutly

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, Not made and worn, By every one that hath a heart
Or do you think they more than once can die, Whom you deny
...

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