  O wide the way your beauty goes, For all its feigned indifference, And every folly’s path it knows, And every humour of pretence. But I can be as false as are The rainbow loves which are your days, And I will gladly go and far, Content with your immediate praise. Your lips, the shyer lover’s bane, I take with disputation none, And am your kinsman in disdain When all is excellently done. |
|
