Tixall Poetry.
57
A Glass Lampe Broken.
This vestall flame might ever burne,
Closd in so pure a virgin urne,
Had not the frost outmatch'd the fire,
And taught how beauty may expire.
I know thy blazing beautye's might,
I feele the heate, I see the light;
Thy soule, unto my eyes though dimme,
Transpares, I grant, through every limbe;
But age's frost comes on a pace,
And that may crack thy christall case.
Closd in so pure a virgin urne,
Had not the frost outmatch'd the fire,
And taught how beauty may expire.
I know thy blazing beautye's might,
I feele the heate, I see the light;
Thy soule, unto my eyes though dimme,
Transpares, I grant, through every limbe;
But age's frost comes on a pace,
And that may crack thy christall case.
A Glasse Bell in a Pendant, Broken.
While this bell livd still ringing in your eare,
You heard not what it sometymes whispered there:
Upon how fraie a thred the grace depends
Your smooth-tongd lover to your care commends;
You heard not what it sometymes whispered there:
Upon how fraie a thred the grace depends
Your smooth-tongd lover to your care commends;
h
