Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/62

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From "The Mistress of Philarete"

By George Wither


Sometime I do admire
All men burn not with desire:
Nay I muse her servants are not
Pleading love; but O! they dare not.
And I therefore wonder, why
They do not grow sick and die.
Sure they would do so, but that,
By the ordinance of fate,
There is some concealed thing
So each gazer limiting10
He can see no more of merit,
Than beseems his worth and spirit.

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