by Sir John Suckling

DOST see how unregarded now
             That piece of beauty passes ?
There was a time when I did vow
                               To that alone ;
             But mark the fate of faces ;
The red and white works now no more on me
Than if it could not charm, or I not see.

And yet the face continues good,
             And I have still desires,
Am still the selfsame flesh and blood,
                               As apt to melt
             And suffer from those fires ;
O !  some kind power unriddle where it lies,
Whether my heart be faulty, or her eyes ?

She every day her man does kill,
             And I as often die ;
Neither her power, then, nor my will
                               Can questioned be,
             What is the mystery ?
Sure Beauty's empires, like to greater states,
Have certain periods set, and hidden fates.

Suckling, John. The Works of Sir John Suckling. A. Hamilton Thompson, ed.
London: George Routledge & Sons, Ltd., 1910. 14-15.

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