What boots a life which in such haste forsakes thee?
Thou’ art wondrous frolic, being to die so soon,
And passing proud a little colour makes thee.
Sir Richard Fanshawe.
LXX
TO CASTARA. THE REWARD OF INNOCENT LOVE.
We saw and wooed each other’s eyes,
My soul contracted then with thine,
And both burnt in one sacrifice,
By which our marriage grew divine.
Let wilder youth, whose soul is sense, 5