THE WILLING PRISONER TO HIS MISTRESS.
LET fools great Cupid's yoke disdain,
Loving their own wild freedom better ;
Whilst, proud of my triumphant chain,
I sit, and court my beauteous fetter.
Her murd'ring glances, snaring hairs,
And her bewitching smiles so please me,
As he brings ruin, that repairs
The sweet afflictions that disease me.
Hide not those panting balls of snow
With envious veils from my beholding ;
Unlock those lips their pearly row
In a sweet smile of love unfolding.
And let those eyes, whose motion wheels
The restless fate of every lover,
Survey the pains my sick heart feels,
And wounds themselves have made discover.
Vincent, Arthur, ed. The Poems of Thomas Carew.
London: George Routledge & Sons, Ltd., nd. 51.
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