Samuel Daniel

And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years, And learn to gather flowers before they wither

For women grieve to think they must be old.

Thou may’st repent that thou hast scorn’d my tears, When Winter snows upon thy sable hairs.

I that have loved thee thus before thou fadest, My faith shall wax, when thou art in thy waning. The world shall find this miracle in me, That fire can burn when all the matter's spent.

Men do not weigh the stalk for what it was, When once they find her flow’r, her glory, pass.

The fairest flower that ever saw the light.

Sacred on earth; designed a saint above!

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies;

To spend the time luxuriously Becomes not men of worth.

Ah! 'tis the silent rhetoric of a look, That works the league betwixt the states of hearts.

Man is a creature of a wilful head, And hardly driven is, but eas'ly led.

Pity is sworn servant unto love; And thus be sure, wherever it begin To make the way, it lets the master in.

The absent danger greater still appears; Less fears he who is near the thing he fears.

Princes in this case Do hate the traitor, though they love the treason.

For 'tis some ease our sorrows to reveal, If they to whom we shall impart our woes, Seem but to feel a part of what we feel, And meet us with a sigh, but at the close.

Folly in youth is sin, in age 'tis madness.

But years hath done this wrong, To make me write too much, and live too long.

And you shall find the greatest enemy A man can have is his prosperity.