Classic Poem

I

T O write your Name upon the glasse,
Is that the greatest you'l impart
Of your Commands? when, Dear, alas!
'Twas long since graven in mine heart?
But you foresee my heart must break, and sure
Think 't in that britle quarry more secure.

II

My breast impregnable is found,
Which nothing, but thy beauty, wracks,
Than this frail metall far more sound,
That every storm, and tempest cracks:
And, if you adde fayth to my vows, and tears,
More firm, and more transparent it appears.

III

Yet I obey you, when (behold!)
I tremble at the forced fact;
My hand too sawcy, and too bold,
Timorously shivers at the act;
And 'twixt the wounded glasse, and th' harder stone,
I hear a murmuring emulation.

IV

'Tis done: to which let all hearts bow,
And to the tablet sacrifice;
Incense of loyall sighs allow,
And tears from wonder-strucken eys;
Which should the Schismaticks of Sion see,
Perchance they'd break it for Idolatrie.

V

But cursed be that awkward hand
Dares raze the glory from this frame;
That, notwithstanding thy command,
Tears from this glasse thy snowy Name;
Who ere hee be, unless hee do repent,
Hee's damn'd for breaking thy Commandement.

VI

Yet, what thy dear will here has plac't,
Such is its unassured state,
Must once, my Sweetest, be defac't,
Or by the stroke of time, or fate.
It must, at last, howere, dissolve, and dye
With all the world, and so must thou, and I.