John Suckling

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

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

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

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

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
...

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

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