Who will not change a raven for a dove?
115 The will of man is by his reason sway’d;
And reason says you are the worthier maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their season:
[118] So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;
And touching now the point of human skill,
120 Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
And leads me to your eyes; where I o’erlook
[122] Love’s stories, written in love’s richest book.
Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?