Before my tears did drown it; Is the year only lost to me? Have I no bays to crown it, No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, 15 Not so, my heart, but there is fruit, Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit and not; forsake thy cage, 21 Thy rope of sands Which petty thoughts have made; and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw, 25 5 This little vault, this narrow room, ΤΟ Phyllis why should we delay Phyllis to this truth we owe Let not you and I inquire What has been our past desire; On what shepherds you have smiled, What we shall hereafter do; ON A GIRDLE That which her slender waist confined, Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown, 5 His arms might do what this has done. 20 5 10 15 20 |