Tixall Poetry.
65
A Glasse of Conserve of Roses Broken.
Goe, lady, heare the poet sing
Your rosy cheekes eternall spring;
Beleve your doctor has the power
Still to preserve your beautys flower:
And then behold this broken glasse,
And vew the autumne of your face:
Thees roses weire conservd as well,
And yet you see how soone they fell.
Your rosy cheekes eternall spring;
Beleve your doctor has the power
Still to preserve your beautys flower:
And then behold this broken glasse,
And vew the autumne of your face:
Thees roses weire conservd as well,
And yet you see how soone they fell.
A Glass, on The One Side Concave, on The Other Convex, Broken.
Come you, whose sharpe dull eyes are ever knowne
Eagles to others faults, moles to your owne;
Who to ther vertues turne a Polypheine,
Though to your owne you more then Argus seeme;
Whose lynx-like sight can perce dull earth for gold,
Yet, owle-like, dare not heavens bright sunne behold:
Eagles to others faults, moles to your owne;
Who to ther vertues turne a Polypheine,
Though to your owne you more then Argus seeme;
Whose lynx-like sight can perce dull earth for gold,
Yet, owle-like, dare not heavens bright sunne behold:
