PRESSE me not to take more pleasure In this world of sugred lies, And to use a larger measure Than my strict, yet welcome size. First, there is no pleasure here: Colour'd griefs indeed there are, Blushing woes, that look as cleare As if they could beautie spare. Or, if such deceits there be, Such delights I meant to say; There are no such things to me, Who have pass'd my right away. But I will not much oppose Unto what you now advise: Onely take this gentle rose, And therein my answer lies. What is fairer then a rose? What is sweeter? yet it purgeth. Purgings enmitie disclose, Enmitie forbearance urgeth. If then all that wordlings prize Be contracted to a rose; Sweetly there indeed it lies, But it biteth in the close. So this flower doth judge and sentence Wordly joyes to be a scourge; For they all produce repentance, And repentance is a purge. But I health, not physick, choose: Onely though I you oppose, Say that fairly I refuse; For my answer is a rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 5 by EZRA POUND THE BLINDED BIRD by THOMAS HARDY SONNET: 24. THE STREET by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL TO THE MOCKINGBIRD by RICHARD HENRY WILDE THE EUMENIDES: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS |