Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/66

46 Time shall moult away his wings, Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover.

But the spite on 't is, no praise Is due at all to me: Love with me had made no stays, Had it any been but she.

Had it any been but she, And that very face, There had been at least ere this A dozen dozen in her place.

but did you love so long? In troth, I needs must blame you: Passion did your judgment wrong, Or want of reason shame you.

Truth, time's fair and witty daughter, Shortly shall discover, Y' are a subject fit for laughter, And more fool than lover.

But I grant you merit praise For your constant folly: Since you doted three whole days, Were you not melancholy?

She to whom you prov'd so true, And that very, very face, Puts each minute such as you A dozen dozen to disgrace.