1My soul, why dost thou such a mourning make,
2This loathsome ruined prison to forsake?
3Seest thou these eyes? (’Tis thou that gives them sight,
4Or they would quickly set in endless night.)
splendent sprightliness in youth they had!
6Now weeping makes them dim and dull and sad.
7These locks did curl, and were a golden brown;
8Now thin and lank like silver threads hang down.
count’nance had a pleasing grace;
Erra Pater’s or a
11My lips were cherries, rosy were my cheeks;
12But those that now for blood or beauty seek
13Will find them spoiled by Time and adverse Fate,
14Whose cruelty doth give to all a
15My skin was once as white as new fallen snow;
vermillion blood did flow.
17Then were my swelling breasts the bed of love,
18As smooth, as soft, as white as swan or dove;
19As lilies fading shrink to shun the light,
20So are my withered breasts shut out of sight;
21Time’s tyranny they feel, and Sorrow’s spite.
sportive wit and mirth is now laid by;
23None is more moping now, and dull, than I.
24My joys to heaven with my dear
Pen did fly.
25Then why, my soul, art thou so fond to stay,
26Seeing all that’s lovely in me doth decay?
27For shame! Pack up thy virtues, and away.