24139Thou can
st not
see one wrinckle in my brow,
140Mine eyes are grey, and bright, & quicke in turning:
141My beautie as the
spring doth yearelie grow,
142My
fle
sh is
soft, and plumpe, my marrow burning,
143 My
smooth moi
st hand, were it with thy hand felt,
144 Would in thy palme di
ssolue, or
seeme to melt.
25145Bid me di
scour
se, I will inchaunt thine eare,
146Or like a Fairie, trip vpon the greene,
147Or like a Nimph, with long di
sheueled heare,
148Daunce on the
sands, and yet no footing
seene.
149 Loue is a
spirit all compa
ct of
fire,
150 Not gro
sse to
sinke, but light, and will a
spire.
26151Witne
sse this Primro
se banke whereon I lie,
152The
se forcele
sse
flowers like
sturdy trees
support me:
153Two
strēgthles doues will draw me through the skie,
154From morne till night, euen where I li
st to
sport me.
155 Is loue
so light
sweet boy, and may it be,
156 That thou
should thinke it heauie vnto thee?
27157Is thine owne heart to thine owne face a
ffe
cted?
158Can thy right hand ceaze loue vpon thy left?
159Then woo thy
selfe, be of thy
selfe reie
cted:
160Steale thine own freedome, and complaine on theft.
161 Narci
ssus
so him
selfe him
selfe for
sooke,
162 And died to ki
sse his
shadow in the brooke.