Laura. The Toyes of a Traveller. Or. The Feast of Fancie - Part 2, 18
My Laura wonders that in visage pale
I beare of death it selfe the lively show,
But if she muse at this, her musing's stale,
For this sad colour had I long agoe.
The fire (close burning in my veynes) doth make
That outward ashes in my face you view:
But if that she would on me pittie take
Who is the cause of this my palish hiew,
This kindled heate shall die, which now doth burne,
And my first colour shall againe returne.
I beare of death it selfe the lively show,
But if she muse at this, her musing's stale,
For this sad colour had I long agoe.
The fire (close burning in my veynes) doth make
That outward ashes in my face you view:
But if that she would on me pittie take
Who is the cause of this my palish hiew,
This kindled heate shall die, which now doth burne,
And my first colour shall againe returne.
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