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I.
In mine one monument I lye, And in my self am buried; Sure, the quick lightning of her eye Melted my soul ith' scabberd dead; And now like some pale ghost I walk, And with another's spirit talk. II. Nor can her beams a heat convey, That may my frozen bosome warm, Unless her smiles have pow'r, as they, That a cross charm can countercharm. But this is such a pleasing pain, I'm loth to be alive again. ANOTHER. I did believe I was in heav'n, When first the heav'n her self was giv'n, That in my heart her beams did passe As some the sun keep in a glasse, So that her beauties thorow me Did hurt my rival-enemy. But fate, alas! decreed it so, That I was engine to my woe: For, as a corner'd christal spot, My heart diaphanous was not; But solid stuffe, where her eye flings Quick fire upon the catching strings: Yet, as at triumphs in the night, You see the Prince's Arms in light, So, when I once was set on flame, I burnt all ore the letters of her name. Unsatisfied? Search for more:Other Cool Sites:Hot Arts & Stage NewsLyrics Catalogue Sound Tracks Guide Guide to Serials and Shows English Subtitles For DivX Movies Hundreds of Cooking Recipes Over 5000 Cocktails Recipes Cool Online Encyclopedia Cellulars Descriptions and Reviews Algorithms Dictionary Funny Jokes and Anecdotes. Usenet Newsgroups Reader |