Thine eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,
Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong,
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue!
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good.
BEAUTY is but a vain and doubtful good;
A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently.
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour!
And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress ;-
So beauty blemish'd once for ever's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.