No _Spring_, nor _Summer_ Beauty hath such grace, As I have seen in one _Autumnall_ face. Yong _Beauties_ force our love, and that's a _Rape_, This doth but _counsaile_, yet you cannot scape. If t'were a _shame_ to love, here t'were no _shame_, 5 _Affection_ here takes _Reverences_ name. Were her first yeares the _Golden Age_; That's true, But now shee's _gold_ oft tried, and ever new. That was her torrid and inflaming time, This is her tolerable _Tropique clyme_. 10 Faire eyes, who askes more heate then comes from hence, He in a fever wishes pestilence. Call not these wrinkles, _graves_; If _graves_ they were, They were _Loves graves_; for else he is no where. Yet lies not Love _dead_ here, but here doth sit 15 Vow'd to this trench, like an _Anachorit_. And here, till hers, which must be his _death_, come, He doth not digge a _Grave_, but build a _Tombe_. Here dwells he, though he sojourne ev'ry where, In _Progresse_, yet his standing house is here. 20 Here, where still _Evening_ is; not _noone_, nor _night_; Where no _voluptuousnesse_, yet all _delight_. In all her words, unto all hearers fit, You may at _Revels_, you at _Counsaile_, sit. This is loves timber, youth his under-wood; 25 There he, as wine in _Iune_, enrages blood, Which then comes seasonabliest, when our tast And appetite to other things, is past. _Xerxes_ strange _Lydian_ love, the _Platane_ tree, Was lov'd for age, none being so large as shee, 30 Or else because, being yong, nature did blesse Her youth with ages glory, _Barrennesse_. If we love things long sought, _Age_ is a thing Which we are fifty yeares in compassing. If transitory things, which soone decay, 35 _Age_ must be lovelyest at the latest day. But name not _Winter-faces_, whose skin's slacke; Lanke, as an unthrifts purse; but a soules sacke; Whose _Eyes_ seeke light within, for all here's shade; Whose _mouthes_ are holes, rather worne out, then made; 40 Whose every tooth to a severall place is gone, To vexe their soules at _Resurrection_; Name not these living _Deaths-heads_ unto mee, For these, not _Ancient_, but _Antique_ be. I hate extreames; yet I had rather stay 45 With _Tombs_, then _Cradles_, to weare out a day. Since such loves naturall lation is, may still My love descend, and journey downe the hill, Not panting after growing beauties, so, I shall ebbe out with them, who home-ward goe. 50