by William Alexander
Oft with that mirror would I change my shape,
From which my Faire askes counsell euery day,
How she th'vntainted beauties should array,
To th'end their fierce assaults no soule may scape.
Then in my bosome I behoou'd t'imbrace
That which I loue, and whil'st on me she gaz'd,
In her sweet eyes I many a time amaz'd,
Would woo my selfe, and borrow thence a grace.
But ah, I seeke that which I haue, and more,
She but too oft in me her picture spies,
And I but gaze too oft on those faire eyes,
Whence I the humor draw that makes mine sore.
Well may my loue come glasse her selfe in me,
In whom all what she is, the world may see.
Last updated January 14, 2019