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Who by his grey hairs doth his lusters tell,
Lives not those years, but he that lives them well.
One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he
Of all those threescore, has not liv'd half three.
He lives, who lives to virtue; men who cast
Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.
Luster, five years.
Lives not those years, but he that lives them well.
One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he
Of all those threescore, has not liv'd half three.
He lives, who lives to virtue; men who cast
Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.
Luster, five years.
1089. TO M. LAURENCE SWETNAHAM.
Read thou my lines, my Swetnaham; if there be
A fault, 'tis hid if it be voic'd by thee.
Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please:
How will it drop pure honey speaking these!
A fault, 'tis hid if it be voic'd by thee.
Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please:
How will it drop pure honey speaking these!
1090. HIS COVENANT; OR, PROTESTATION TO
JULIA.
Why dost thou wound and break my heart,
As if we should for ever part?
Hast thou not heard an oath from me,
After a day, or two, or three,
I would come back and live with thee?
Take, if thou dost distrust that vow,
This second protestation now.
Upon thy cheek that spangled tear,
Which sits as dew of roses there,
That tear shall scarce be dried before
I'll kiss the threshold of thy door.
Then weep not, sweet; but thus much know,
I'm half return'd before I go.
As if we should for ever part?
Hast thou not heard an oath from me,
After a day, or two, or three,
I would come back and live with thee?
Take, if thou dost distrust that vow,
This second protestation now.
Upon thy cheek that spangled tear,
Which sits as dew of roses there,
That tear shall scarce be dried before
I'll kiss the threshold of thy door.
Then weep not, sweet; but thus much know,
I'm half return'd before I go.
