Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/41

Rh For through long custom it has known The little secrets, and is grown Sullen and wise, will have its will, And, like old hawks, pursues that still That makes least sport, flies only where 't can kill.

Some youth that has not made his story, Will think perchance the pain's the glory, And mannerly sit out love's feast: I shall be carving of the best, Rudely call for the last course 'fore the rest.

And O, when once that course is past, How short a time the feast doth last! Men rise away, and scarce say grace, Or civilly once thank the face That did invite, but seek another place.

thou not find the place inspir'd, And flowers, as if they had desir'd No other sun, start from their beds, And for a sight steal out their heads? Heard'st thou not musick when she talk'd? And didst not find that, as she walk'd She threw rare perfumes all about, Such as bean-blossoms newly out, Or chafed spices give?

I must confess those perfumes, Tom, I did not smell; nor found that from Her passing by ought sprung up new: The flowers had all their birth from you;