When fourty nights shall beside you brow

and dig deep wounds in your beauty now

Your youth's proud livery so gazed on me

tomorrow will be darkened sealed



Look how a bird lies tangeled in a net

Pure shame and awed resistance made him fred

So fastened in her arms the favoured lies

She found more beauty in his varied eyes



Cut is the brunch that might be grown

with you faith, the treasure of your lusty days



Then being asked where all your beauty lies

I say it to your deep-sunken eyes

"As if the dead the living should exceed

possessed by heavens heart and hand"



He burns with basful shame

She with her tears does quench the maiden

burning off her cheeks

Then with her windy sighs and golden hands

to fain and blow them dry again she seeks



Look how a painter would surpass his life

His art with nature's workmanship at strife

In limmming out a well-proportioned steed

as if the dead the living should exceed