298 Persuasions to Joy: a Song
PF the quick spirits in your eye
Now languish and anon must die; If every sweet and every grace Must fly from that forsaken face;
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys.
Or if that golden fleece must grow
For ever free from aged snow;
If those bright suns must know no shade,
Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; Then fear not, Celia, to bestow What, still being gather'd, still must grow.
Thus cither Time his sickle brings In vain, or else in vain his wings.
��p To His Inconstant Mistress
WHEN thou, poor Excommunicate From all the joys of Love, shalt see The full reward and glorious fate
Which my strong faith shall purchase me, Then curse thine own inconstancy '
A fairer hand than thine shall cure
That heart which thy false oaths did wound;
And to my soul a soul more pure
Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound, And both with equal glory crown'd.