Flames turn to frost And ere we can Know how our crow turns swan, Springs there where jet did grow, Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. Since then the night hath hurled Just such a blind and shapeless thing And make shade pleasure; Let's number out the hours by blisses, And whilst we try the way By which love doth convey And mingling so Makes them such raptures know In mutual ecstacy, Let the harmonious spheres in music roll. C From THOMAS FORDE'S Love's LOVE'S DUEL. UPID all his arts did prove To invite my heart to love; His mild summons to obey, Straight the god assumes his arms; With my shield alone defy |