Thomas Carew


THAT flatt'ring glass, whose smooth face wears
Your shadow, which a sun appears,
Was once a river of my tears.

About your cold heart they did make
A circle, where the briny lake                            5
Congeal'd into a crystal cake.

Gaze no more on that killing eye,
For fear the native cruelty
Doom you, as it doth all, to die :

For fear lest the fair object move                     10
Your froward heart to fall in love :
Then you yourself my rival prove.

Look rather on my pale cheeks pined,
There view your beauties, there you'll find
A fair face, but a cruel mind.                            15

Be not for ever frozen, coy !
One beam of love will soon destroy
And melt that ice to floods of joy.

Vincent, Arthur, ed. The Poems of Thomas Carew.
London: George Routledge & Sons, Ltd., nd. 25.

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