"Caelica, while you doe sweare you love me best, And euer loved onely me, I feele that all powers are opprest By Love, and Love by Destinie.For as the child in swadlin-bands, When it doth see the Nurse come nigh, With smiles and crowes doth lift the hands, Yet still must in the cradle lie: So in the boate of Fate I rowe, And looking to you, from you goe.When I see in thy once-belovèd browes, The heavy marks of constant love, I call to minde my broken vowes, And child-like to the Nurse would move; But Love is of the Phaenix-kind, And burnes it selfe, in selfe-made fire, To breed still new birds in the minde, From ashes of the old desire: And hath his wings from constancy, As mountaines call'd of moving be.Then Caelica lose not heart-eloquence, Love understands not, come againe: Who changes in her owne defence, Needs not cry to the deafe in vaine. Love is no true made Looking-glasse, Which perfect yeelds the shape we bring, It ugly showes us all that was, And flatters every future thing. When Phoebus beames no more appeare, 'Tis darker that the day was here.Change I confesse it is a hatefull power, To them that all at once must thinke, Yet Nature made both sweet and sower, She gave the eye a lid to winke: And though the Youth that are estrang'd From Mothers lap to other skyes, Doe thinke that Nature there is chang'd Because at home their knowledge lyes; Yet shall they see who farre have gone, That Pleasure speaks more tongues than one. The Leaves fall off, when Sap goes to the root, The warmth doth clothe the bough againe; But to the dead tree what doth boot, The silly mans manuring paine?"