Page:Shakespeare Collection of Poems.djvu/22

Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink, so shall the day seem night,
Love keeps his revels where there be but twain:
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight.
⁠These blew-vein'd Violets whereon we lean
⁠Never can blab, nor know they what we mean.

The tender Spring, upon thy tempting lip,
Shews thee unripe; yet may'st thou well be tasted:
Make use of time, let not advantage slip,
Beauty within it self would not be wasted.
⁠Fair flowers that are not gathered in their prime,
⁠Rot and consume themselves in little time.

Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled old,
Ill-natur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
Ore-worn, despised, rheumatick and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juyce,
⁠Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee:
⁠But having no defects why dost abhor me?

Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow,
Mine eyes are gray, and bright, and quick in turning:
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh as soft and plump, my marrow burning:
⁠My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
⁠Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or like a Fairie, trip upon the green,

Or