Why beauty am I now denied,
Or knew not then to use it?
Then shall I wish, ungentle fair,
10Thou in like flames mayst burn;
Venus, if just, will hear my prayer,
And I shall laugh my turn.
The Revenge.] Not one of his best, even as a translation. The suspicion of flatness which occurs too often in him could not be more fatal than in connexion with Ronsard's famous and beautiful sonnet. But Stanley has handicapped himself almost inconceivably. He has thrown away the half-sad, half-scornful burst of the opening 'Quand vous serez bien vieille'—the vivid picture of the crone half boasting, half regretting her love and her disdain, by the flicker of fire and candle, to the listening handmaiden, and the final touch as to the use of life. In fact I have sometimes wondered whether he really meant this masterpiece.
Song.
I will not trust thy tempting graces,