The 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.
Then die! that sheThe common fate of all things rareMay read in thee:How small a part of time they shareThat are so wondrous sweet and fair!
THOMAS RANDOLPH 1606–1634?