WILLIAM SPEARE. 1564-1616. LOVE'S RICHES. SOME glory in their birth, some in their skill, Some in their wealth, some in their body's force; Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill; Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse; And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, Wherein it finds a joy above the rest: But these particulars are not my measure; All these I better in one general best. Thy love is better than high birth to me, Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost, Of more delight than hawks or horses be; And having thee, of all men's pride I boast : WILLIAM LOVE'S HAPPINESS IMPERFECT. BUT do thy worst to steal thyself away, SPEARE. For term of life thou art assurèd mine; 1564-1616. And life no longer than thy love will stay, When in the least of them my life hath end. Than that which on thy humour doth depend. O, what a happy title do I find, Happy to have thy love, happy to die! But what's so blessèd-fair that fears no blot ? WILLIAM SPEARE. 1564-1616. THE ABSENT LOVE. FROM you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you; you pattern of all those. WILLIAM 1564-1616. LOVE CONQUERS TIME. To me, fair Friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned, Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, WILLIAM 1564-1616. THE FAIREST FAIR. WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme I see their antique pen would have expressed So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring; And, for they looked but with divining eyes, |