Edmund WallerEdmund Waller[1606-1687]On a Girdle
¶THAT which her slender waist confinedShall now my joyful temples bind;No monarch but would give his crownHis arms might do what this has done.
¶It was my Heaven's extremest sphere,The pale which held that lovely deer:My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,Did all within this circle move.
¶A narrow compass! and yet thereDwelt all that's good, and all that's fair:Give me but what this ribband bound,Take all the rest the Sun goes round.
Go, LOVELY ROSE!
¶Go , lovely Rose!Tell her, that wastes her time and me,That now she knows,When I resemble her to thee,How sweet and fair she seems to be.
¶Tell her that's youngAnd shuns to have her graces spied,That hadst thou sprungIn deserts, where no men abide,Thou must have uncommended died.
¶Small is the worthOf beauty from the light retired:Bid her come forth,Suffer herself to be desired,And not blush so to be admired.
William Cartwright
¶Then die! that sheThe common fate of all things rareMay read in thee:How small a part of time they shareThey are so wondrous sweet and fair!