Classic Poem

XX.
Her rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes,
Are Spheares and beds where Love in triumph lies:
Her rubine lips, when they their pearle unlocke,
Make them seeme as they did rise
All out of one smooth Currall Rocke.
Oh, that of other Creatures store I knew
More worthy, and more rare:
For these are old, and shee so new,
That her to them none should compare.

Oh, could she love, would shee but heare a friend,
Or that shee onely knew what sighs pretend.
Her lookes inflame, yet cold as Ice is shee.
Doe or speake, all's to one end,
For what shee is, that will shee be.
Yet will I never cease her prayse to sing,
Though she gives no regard:
For they that grace a worthlesse thing
Are onely greedy of reward.