Sonnet I

John Suckling

Dost see how unregarded now
That piece of beauty passes?
There was a time when I did vow
To that alone;
But mark the fate of faces;
The red and white works now no more on me
Than if it could not charm, or I not see.

And yet the face continues good,
And I have still desires,
Am still the selfsame flesh and blood,
As apt to melt
And suffer from those fires;
O! Some kind power unriddle where it lies,
Whether my heart be faulty, or her eyes?

She every day her man does kill,
And I as often die;
Neither her power, then, nor my will
Can questioned be,
What is the mystery?
Sure Beauty’s empires, like to greater states,
Have certain periods set, and hidden fates.