DAPHNE was not so chaste as she was changing, Soon begun, love with hate estranging: He that to-day triumphs with favours graced, Falls before night with scorns defaced. Yet is thy beauty feigned, and everyone desires Still the false light of thy traitorous fires. Beauty can want no grace by true Love viewed, Fancy by looks is still renewed: Like to a fruitful tree, it ever groweth, Or the fresh spring that endless floweth. But if that beauty were of one consent with Love, Love should live free, and true pleasure prove. |