Come, seeling Night, Skarfe up the tender Eye of pitiful Day
And with thy bloddie and invisible Hand Cancel and teare to pieces that great Bond That keepes me pale. Light thickens, and the crow Makes Wing to th'Rookie Wood. Good things of Day begin to droope, and drowse, While Nights's black Agents to their Prey's doe rowse. Thou marvell'st at my words, but hold thee still; Things bad begun, make strong themselves by ill: So prythee go with me.
I never saw that you did painting need, And therefore to you fair no painting set, I found (or thought I found) you did exceed, The barren tender of a Poets's debt: And therefore have I slept in your report, That you yourself being extant well might show, Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow,
This silence for my sin you did impute, Which shall be most my glory being dumb, For I impair not beauty being mute, When others would give life, and bring a tomb. There lives more life in one of your fair eyes, Than both your Poets can in praise devise.
O more than Moone, Draw not up seas to drowne me in thy spheare, Weep me not dead, in thine armes, but for beare To teach the sea what it may doe too soone, Let not the winde Example finde, To do me more harm, then it purposeth, Since thou and I sigh one another's breath, Whoe'er sighs most, is cruellest, and hasts the other's death.
Happy Birhtday Lynnde Taylor Sis...
31 years February 21st.
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