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CAREW, Thomas

Ask Me No More

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose;

For in your beauty's orient deep

These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray

The golden atoms of the day;

For in pure love heaven did prepare

Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste

The nightingale when May is past;

For in your sweet dividing throat

She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars 'light

That downwards fall in dead of night;

For in your eyes they sit, and there

Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west

The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies.

To my inconstant Mistris

When thou, poore excommunicate

From all the joyes of love, shalt see

The full reward, and glorious fate,

Which my strong faith shall purchase me,

Then curse thine owne inconstancy.

A fayrer hand than thine, shall cure

That heart, which thy false oathes did wound;

And to my soul, a soul more pure

Than thine, shall by Loves hand be bound,

And both with equall glory crown'd.

Then shalt thou weepe, entreat, complain

To Love, as I did once to thee;

When all thy teares shall be as vain

As mine were then, for thou shalt bee

Damn'd for thy false Apostasie.