THOMAS CAREW

Then, Celia, let us reap our joys Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys.

Or if that golden fleece must grow

For ever free from aged snow ;

If those bright suns must know no shade,

Nor your fresh beauties ever fade ; Then fear not, Celia, to bestow What, still being gather'd, still must grow.

Thus either Time his sickle brings

>

In vain, or else in vain his wings.

��291. To His Inconstant Mistress

��thou, poor Excommunicate From all the joys of Love, shalt see The full reward and glorious fate

Which my strong faith shall purchase me, Then curse thine own inconstancy !

A fairer hand than thine shall cure

That heart which thy false oaths did wound

And to my soul a soul more pure

Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound,, And both with equal glory crown'd.

Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain To Love, as I did once to thee ;

When all thy tears shall be as vain

As mine were then : for thou shalt be Damn'd for thy false apostasy.

�� �