This Heart so freshly bleeding,
Vpon it owne selfe feeding,
Whose woundes still dropping be;
O Loue, thy selfe confounding, 70
Her coldnesse so abounding,
And yet such heat in me.

Yet if I be inspired,
Ile leaue thee so admired,
To all that shall succeed,
That were they more then many,
'Mongst all, there is not any,
That Time so oft shall read.

Nor Adamant ingraued,
That hath been choisely 'st saued, 80
IDEA'S Name out-weares;
So large a Dower as this is,
The greatest often misses,
The Diadem that beares.

TO HIS VALENTINE

Muse, bid the Morne awake,
Sad Winter now declines,
Each Bird doth chuse a Make,
This day 's Saint VALENTINE'S;
For that good Bishop's sake
Get vp, and let vs see,
What Beautie it shall bee,
That Fortune vs assignes.

But lo, in happy How'r,
The place wherein she lyes, 10
In yonder climbing Tow'r,
Gilt by the glitt'ring Rise;
O IOVE! that in a Show'r,
As once that Thund'rer did,
When he in drops lay hid,
That I could her surprize.

Her Canopie Ile draw,
With spangled Plumes bedight,
No Mortall euer saw
So rauishing a sight; 20
That it the Gods might awe,
And pow'rfully trans-pierce
The Globie Vniuerse,
Out-shooting eu'ry Light.

My Lips Ile softly lay
Vpon her heau'nly Cheeke,
Dy'd like the dawning Day,
As polish'd Iuorie sleeke:
And in her Eare Ile say;
O, thou bright Morning-Starre, 30
'Tis I that come so farre,
My Valentine to seeke.

Each little Bird, this Tyde,
Doth chuse her loued Pheere,
Which constantly abide
In Wedlock all the yeere,
As Nature is their Guide:
So may we two be true,
This yeere, nor change for new,
As Turtles coupled were. 40

The Sparrow, Swan, the Doue,
Though VENVS Birds they be,
Yet are they not for Loue
So absolute as we:
For Reason vs doth moue;
They but by billing woo:
Then try what we can doo,
To whom each sense is free.

Which we haue more then they,
By liuelyer Organs sway'd,