No, she is young, or I, her love t’ engage,
Will grow discreet, and that will seem like age:
But speak it not; Death’s equalizing arm
Levels not surer than Love’s stronger charm,
That bids all inequalities be gone,
That laughs at rank, that mocks comparison. 250
There is not young or old, if Love decrees;
He levels orders, he confounds degrees;
There is not fair, or dark, or short, or tall,
Or grave, or sprightly—Love reduces all;