The Blossom

LITTLE think’st thou, poor flower,

Whom I’ve watch’d six or seven days,

And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour

Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise,

And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough,

Little think’st thou,

That it will freeze anon, and that I shall

To-morrow find thee fallen, or not at all.

Little think’st thou, poor heart,

That labourest yet to nestle thee,

And think’st by hovering here to get a part

In a forbidden or forbidding tree,

And hopest her stiffness by long siege to bow,

Little think’st thou,

That thou to-morrow, ere that sun doth wake,

Must with this sun and me a journey take.

But thou which lovest to be

Subtle to plague thyself, wilt say,

Alas! if you must go, what’s that to me?

Here lies my business, and here I will stay;

You go to friends, whose love and means present

Various content

To your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part;

If then your body go, what need your heart?

Well then, stay here; but know,

When thou hast stay’d and done thy most,

A naked thinking heart, that makes no show,

Is to a woman but a kind of ghost.

How shall she know my heart; or having none,

Know thee for one?

Practice may make her know some other part;

But take my word, she doth not know a heart.

Meet me at London, then,

Twenty days hence, and thou shalt see

Me fresher, and more fat, by being with men,

Than if I had stay’d still with her and thee.

For God’s sake, if you can, be you so too;

I will give you

There to another friend, whom we shall find

As glad to have my body as my mind.