When I consider, dearest, thou dost stay
But here a-while, to languish and decay,
Like to these garden-glories, which here be
The flowery-sweet resemblances of thee;
With grief of heart, methinks, I thus do cry:
Would thou hadst ne'er been born, or might'st not die.
523. UPON MISTRESS SUSANNA SOUTHWELL, HER
CHEEKS.
Rare are thy cheeks, Susanna, which do show
Ripe cherries smiling, while that others blow.
524. UPON HER EYES.
Clear are her eyes,
Like purest skies,
Discovering from thence
A baby there
That turns each sphere,
Like an Intelligence.
A baby, see Note to [38], "To his mistress objecting to him neither toying nor talking".
525. UPON HER FEET.
Her pretty feet
Like snails did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they played at Bo-Peep,
Did soon draw in again.
526. TO HIS HONOURED FRIEND, SIR JOHN MINCE.
For civil, clean, and circumcised wit,
And for the comely carriage of it,
Thou art the man, the only man best known,
Mark'd for the true wit of a million:
From whom we'll reckon. Wit came in but since
The calculation of thy birth, brave Mince.