Oh! would I were dead now,Or up in my bed now,To cover my head nowAnd have a good cry!
How bravely Autumn paints upon the skyThe gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
There is even a happiness - that makes the heart afraid.
Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!
My tears must stop, for every dropHinders needle and thread.
A man that's fond precociously of stirring, Must be a spoon.
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in.
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,Love half regrets to kiss it dry.
There is a tear for all who die,A mourner o'er the humblest grave.
Then fresh tearsStood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dewUpon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.
If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
Thrice he assay'd, and, thrice in spite of scorn,Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth.
I so lively acted with my tearsThat my poor mistress, moved therewithal,Wept bitterly.
For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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