Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes Which, starlike, sparkle in their skies; Nor be you proud that you can see All hearts your captives, yours yet free; Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons with the love-sick air; Whenas that ruby which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, Will last to be a precious stone When all your world of beauty's gone. 161. TO THE KING, TO CURE THE EVIL. To find that tree of life whose fruits did feed And leaves did heal all sick of human seed: To find Bethesda and an angel there Stirring the waters, I am come; and here, At last, I find (after my much to do) The tree, Bethesda and the angel too: And all in your blest hand, which has the powers Of all those suppling-healing herbs and flowers. To that soft charm, that spell, that magic bough, That high enchantment, I betake me now, And to that hand (the branch of heaven's fair tree), I kneel for help; O! lay that hand on me, Adored Cæsar! and my faith is such I shall be heal'd if that my king but touch. The evil is not yours: my sorrow sings, "Mine is the evil, but the cure the king's". 162. HIS MISERY IN A MISTRESS. Water, water I espy; Come and cool ye, all who fry In your loves; but none as I. Though a thousand showers be Still a-falling, yet I see Not one drop to light on me. Happy you who can have seas For to quench ye, or some ease From your kinder mistresses. I have one, and she alone, Of a thousand thousand known, Dead to all compassion. Such an one as will repeat Both the cause and make the heat More by provocation great. Gentle friends, though I despair Of my cure, do you beware Of those girls which cruel are. 164. TO A GENTLEWOMAN OBJECTING TO HIM HIS GRAY HAIRS. Am I despised because you say, And I dare swear, that I am gray? Know, lady, you have but your day: And time will come when you shall wear Such frost and snow upon your hair; And when (though long, it comes to pass) You question with your looking-glass; And in that sincere crystal seek, But find no rose-bud in your cheek: Nor any bed to give the show Where such a rare carnation grew. Ah! then too late, close in your chamber keeping, It will be told That you are old, By those true tears y'are weeping. 165. TO CEDARS. If 'mongst my many poems I can see One only worthy to be wash'd by thee, I live for ever, let the rest all lie In dens of darkness or condemn'd to die. _Cedars_, oil of cedar was used for preserving manuscripts (carmina linenda cedro. _Hor._ Ars Poet., 331.) 166. UPON CUPID. Love like a gipsy lately came, And did me much importune To see my hand, that by the same He might foretell my fortune.