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Than by the Dew, falne in a Cowslips wombe,
Heav'n's Treasurie of Showrs that are to come.
The Curtain's drawne! looke there, and you shall spie
The faded God of your Idolatrie!
Cold as the feet of Rocks, silent in shade
As Chaos lay, before the Winds were made.
Yet this was once the Flow'r, on whom the Day
So smil'd, as if he never should decay:
Soft, as the hands of Love, smooth as her brow;
So young in shew, as if he still should grow;
Yet perfected with all the pride of strength,
Equall in Limbs, and square unto his length:
And though the jealous World hath understood,
Fates only Seal'd, the first creation good;
This moderne worke (sterne Fates!) rose up to prove
Your ancient skill retayn'd, but not your love:
Could you have lov'd, you had with carefull fight
Preserv'd, what you did frame with such delight.
O, let me summe his crimes, let me relate
Them strictly as his Judge, not Advocate;
And yet the greatest number you shall finde
Were errors of his youth, not of his minde:
Heav'n's Treasurie of Showrs that are to come.
The Curtain's drawne! looke there, and you shall spie
The faded God of your Idolatrie!
Cold as the feet of Rocks, silent in shade
As Chaos lay, before the Winds were made.
Yet this was once the Flow'r, on whom the Day
So smil'd, as if he never should decay:
Soft, as the hands of Love, smooth as her brow;
So young in shew, as if he still should grow;
Yet perfected with all the pride of strength,
Equall in Limbs, and square unto his length:
And though the jealous World hath understood,
Fates only Seal'd, the first creation good;
This moderne worke (sterne Fates!) rose up to prove
Your ancient skill retayn'd, but not your love:
Could you have lov'd, you had with carefull fight
Preserv'd, what you did frame with such delight.
O, let me summe his crimes, let me relate
Them strictly as his Judge, not Advocate;
And yet the greatest number you shall finde
Were errors of his youth, not of his minde:
For
