V Beauty, sweet Love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon the tender green Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show, And straight 'tis gone as it had never been. Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish, Short is the glory of the blushing rose; The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish, Yet which at length thou must be forced to lose. When thou, surcharged with burthen of thy years, Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth; And that, in Beauty's Lease expired, appears The Date of Age, the Calends of our Death-- But ah, no more!--this must not be foretold, For women grieve to think they must be old.

VI I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile; Flowers have time before they come to seed, And she is young, and now must sport the while. And sport, Sweet Maid, in season of these years, And learn to gather flowers before they wither; And where the sweetest blossom first appears, Let Love and Youth conduct thy pleasures thither. Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise; Pity and smiles do best become the fair; Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise.