Out upon it, I have lov'd
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.
Time shall moult away his wings,
Ere he shall discover
In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.
But the spite on't is, no praise
Is due at all to me;
Love with me had made no stays,
Had it any been but she.
Had it any been but she,
And that very face,
There had been at least ere this
A dozen dozen in her place.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the way they use to talk back then. Its a shame we lost all together that manner of writing and speaking. I love the way he sounds so angry and confuse with love. you can almost see him pacing back and forth. Sir John Suckling made me feel for him: -)