|
| She's all States, and all Princes, I, |
| Nothing else is. |
| Princes doe but play us; compar'd to this, |
| All honour's mimique; All wealth alchimy; |
| Thou Sunne art halfe as happy'as wee, |
| In that the world's contracted thus. |
| Thine age askes ease, and since thy duties be |
| To warme the world, that's done in warming us. |
| Shine here to us, and thou art every where, |
| This bed thy center is, these wals, thy spheare. |
|
| The indifferent. |
|
| I can love both faire and browne, |
| Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrayes, |
| Her who loves lonenesse best, and her who masks & plaies, |
| Her whō the coūtry form'd, & whō the town, |
| Her who beleeves, and her who tries, |
| Her who still weeps with spungie eyes, |
| And her who is drie Corke, and never cries; |
| I can love her, and her, and you and you, |
| I can love any, so she bee not true. |
|
| Will no other vice content you? |
| Will it not serve your turne to doe, as did your mothers? |
| Or have you all old vices spent, and now would find out others? |
| Or doth a feare, that men are true, torment you? |
| Oh we are not, be not yo so, |
| Let me; and doe you, twenty know. |
| Rob mee, but binde me not, and let me goe.
|
[CW: Must] |