Page:Tixall Poetry.djvu/129

 You stil yourself unto my veue,
 How can I think should yet be you?
 Tis fifteene yeares, a period
 Might serve a prophet, or a God,
 (A Delphik Oracle might cleare
 His riddle once in fifteene yeare,)
 Since I saw Englands face and thine;
 Now that's ecclipst, and yet you shine.
 Thos eyes there wonted terror keepe,
 The self-same danger's in that lyppe;
 The pitt, the nett, the trapp, the hooke,
 The snare is still the self-same looke.
 All owld temptations still I see:
 Both frute and flower combind in thee.
 When I came home, and past the land
 Where once our favor'd oakes did stand,
 Whos naturall age, by course, survives
 The common reach of human lyfes;
 And could not spy one single tree
 Markt with the names of thee and me;
 Was now to pluck a twigge afray'd,
 Where we so many garlands made;