The Passionate Pilgrim. William Shakespeare

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Works of the great poets

The Passionate Pilgrim
William Shakespeare

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When my love swears that she is made of truth Two loves I have of comfort and despair Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook If love makes me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? Scarce had the sun dried up the dewey morn Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle If music and sweet poetry agree	Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her Crabbed age and youth cannot live together Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share Lord! How mine eyes throw gazes to the east

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