¶ Dulnesse.
VVHy do I languish thus, drooping and dull, As if I were all earth? O give me quicknesse, that I may with mirth Praise thee brim-full! The wanton lover in a curious strain Can praise his fairest fair; And with quaint metaphors her curled hair Curl ore again. Thou art my lovelinesse, my life, my light, Beautie alone to me: Thy bloudy death and undeservd, makes thee Pure red and white. When all perfections as but one appeare, That those thy form doth show, The very dust, where thou dost tread and go, Makes beauties here; Where are my lines then? my approaches? views? Where are my window-songs? Lovers are still pretending, & evn wrongs Sharpen their Muse: But I am lost in flesh, whose sugred lyes Still mock me, and grow bold: Sure thou didst put a minde there, if I could Finde there it lies. Lord, cleare thy gift, that with a constant wit I may but look towards thee: Look onely; for to love thee, who can be, What angel fit? |
Teachers Note: In the conventions of Elizabethan love poetry, the lover wrote and sang songs outside the loved one's window. He spoke of her as "red and white," red lips and white skin, the ideal beauty, as we might say "peaches and cream complexion." |
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