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If you let ſlip time, like a neglected roſe
It withers on the ſtalke with languiſh't head.
Beautie is natures brag, and muſt be ſhowne
In courts, at feaſts, and high ſolemnities
Where moſt may wonder at the workmanſhip;
It is for homely features to keepe home,
They had their name thence; courſe complexions
And cheeks of ſorrie graine will ſerve to ply
The ſampler, and to teize the huſwifes wooll.
What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that
Love-darting eyes, or treſſes like the Morne
There was another meaning in theſe gifts?
Thinke what, and be adviz'd, you are but yong yet.
La. I had not thought to have unlockt my lips
In this unhallow'd aire, but that this Jugler
Would thinke to charme my judgment, as mine eyes
Obtruding falſe rules pranckt in reaſons garbe.
I hate when vice can bolt her arguments
And vertue has no tongue to check her pride:
Impoſtor doe not charge moſt innocent nature
As if ſhe would her children ſhould be riotous
With her abundance, ſhe good catereſſe
Means her proviſion only to the good
That live according to her ſober laws
And holy dictate of ſpare Temperance,
If every juſt man that now pines with want
Had but a moderate, and beſeeming ſhare
Of that which lewdy-pamper'd Luxurie
Now heaps upon ſome few with vaſt exceſſe,
Natures full bleſſings would be well diſpenc't
In unſuperfluous even proportion,
And ſhe no whit encomber'd with her ſtore,
