Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/44

24 Beauty like man's old enemy, 's known To tempt him most when he's alone: The air of some wild o'ergrown wood Or pathless grove is the boy's food. Return then back, and feed thine eye, Feed all thy senses, and feast high: Spare diet is the cause love lasts; For surfeits sooner kill than fasts.

of her hands one of her cheeks lay under, Cosening the pillow of a lawful kiss, Which therefore swell'd, and seem'd to part asunder, As angry to be robb'd of such a bliss: The one lookt pale, and for revenge did long, While t' other blush'd, 'cause it had done the wrong.

Out of the bed the other fair hand was On a green satin quilt, whose perfect white Lookt like a daisy in a field of grass, And shew'd like unmelt snow unto the sight: There lay this pretty perdue, safe to keep The rest o' th' body that lay fast asleep.

Her eyes, (and therefore it was night), close laid, Strove to imprison beauty till the morn; But yet the doors were of such fine stuff made, That it broke through, and shew'd itself in scorn, Throwing a kind of light about the place, Which turned to smiles still, as 't came near her face.

Her beams, which some dull men called hair, divided, Part with her cheeks, part with her lips, did sport; But these, as rude, her breath put by still: some Wiselier downwards sought, but, falling short, Curl'd back in rings, and seem'd to turn again To bite the part so unkindly held them in.