Classic Poem

Lady I intreate yow weare
this little pendant on your eare
Tis noe Jewell of great prize
Or in respect of Merchandize
But deepe mistery not the stone
gives it estimation.
Take it then and in a veiwe
See th'Epitomè of yow
ffor what life and death confines
Looks through the passage of theis lines
Whose incarvements doe descrye
A scripture how yow liue and dye
Read it then before your lipp
Comends it to your eares soft tipp
And the while yow doe surveye
this Janus looking double waye
With a teare yow may compare
to that yow must be; what yow are
know time past this cherrystone
had a sweet complexion
Skynne and colour flesh and blood
daintye tast for ladyes food
All's now fledd saue this alone
Poore relique of the beawty, bone
And that soe little we despaire
It ever dangling smil'd i'th'aire.
Soe must that faire face of yours
(As this looking=glasse assures)
ffaile and scarce leaue to be showne
there ever lived such a one
And when an other age shall bring
Your leane scalp to sensuring
though the Sextons truly sweare
Here Jemmonia's titles were
In this rag'd Escutcheon
most maye smile beleiue will none
Or there thought of faith may growe
But to this to think 'twas soe
This lesson you must pearse to'th'truth
And know (faire mistris) of your youth
death with it still walkes along
ffrom Mattins to the Euensong,
from the Pickaxe to the spade
To the tombe wher't must be layd
Whether in the morne of noone
Of your beawty death comes soone
And though his visage hung i'th'eare
doth not to the sight appeare
At each warning hees as much
know, to'th'hearing as the touch.
Place then this mirror to the veiw
Of those virgins whose briske hew
Of lines and colours make them scorne
This livery which the greeke hath worne
Let them read this booke and learne
their ayry coulors to discerne
Twixt this and them this Gorgon showne
Turnes the beholders into stone.
ffinis R: Herricke: