Let it suffice, that neither I do love
In such a calm observance as to weigh
Each word I say,
And each examin'd look t' approve10
That towards her doth move,
Without so much of fire
As might in time kindle into desire.
Or give me leave to burst into a flame,
And at the scope of my unbounded will15
Love her my fill—
No superscriptions of fame,
Of honour, or good name;
No thought, but to improve
The gentle and quick approaches of my love.20
But thus to throng, and overlade a soul
With love, and then to leave a room for fear
That shall all that control,
What is it but to rear
Our passions and our hopes on high,25
That thence they may descry
The noblest way how to despair and die?
A PROLOGUE OF THE AUTHOR'S TO A MASQUE AT WITTEN
Expect not here a curious river fine:
Our wits are short of that—alas the time!
The neat refined language of the court
We know not; if we did, our country sport
Must not be too ambitious: 'tis for kings,5
Not for their subjects, to have such rare things.
Besides, though, I confess, Parnassus hardly,
Yet Helicon this summer-time is dry:
Our wits were at an ebb, or very low;
And, to say troth, I think they cannot flow.10
But yet a gracious influence from you
May alter nature in our brow-sick crew.
Have patience then, we pray, and sit awhile,
And, if a laugh be too much, lend a smile.
