This doth but counsaile, yet you cannot scape.
5If t'were a shame to love, here t'were no shame,
Affection here takes Reverences name.
Were her first yeares the Golden Age; That's true,
But now shee's gold oft tried, and ever new.
That was her torrid and inflaming time,
10This is her tolerable Tropique clyme.
Faire eyes, who askes more heate then comes from hence,
He in a fever wishes pestilence.
Call not these wrinkles, graves; If graves they were,