Poems By Thomas Carevv Esquire. One of the gentlemen of the Privie-Chamber, and Sewer in Ordinary to His Majesty.

To A. L. Perswasions to love.

THinke not cause men flatt'ring say, Y'are fresh as Aprill sweet as May, Bright as is the morning starre, That you are so, or though you are Be not therefore proud, and deeme All men unworthy your esteeme. For being so, you loose the pleasure Of being faire, since that rich treasure Of rare beauty, and sweet feature Was bestow'd on you by nature To be enjoy'd, and 'twere a sinne, There to be scarce, where shee hath bin So prodigall of her best graces; Thus common beauties, and meane faces Shall have more pastime, and enjoy The sport you loose by being coy. Did the thing for which I sue Onely concerne my selfe not you, Were men so fram'd as they alone

Reap'd all the pleasure, women none, Then had you reason to be scant; But 'twere a madnesse not to grant That which affords (if you consent) To you the giver, more content Then me the beggar; Oh then bee Kinde to your selfe if not to mee; Starue not your selfe, because you may Thereby make me pine away; Nor let brittle beautie make You your wiser thoughts forsake: For that lovely face will faile, Beautie's sweet, but beautie's fraile; 'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done Then Summers raine, or winters Sun: Most fleeting when it is most deare, 'Tis gone while wee but say 'tis here. These curious locks so aptly twind, Whose every haire a soule doth bind, Will change their abroun hue, and grow White, and cold as winters snow. That eye which now is Cupids nest Will proue his grave, and all the rest Will follow; in the cheeke, chin, nose

Nor lilly shall be found nor rose. And what will then become of all Those, whom now you servants call? Like swallowes when their summers done, They'le flye and seeke some warmer Sun. Then wisely chuse one to your friend, Whose love may, when your beauties end, Remaine still fi•…•… me: be provident And thinke before the summers spent Of following winter; like the Ant In plenty hoord for time of scant. Cull out amongst the multitude Of lovers, that seeke to intrude Into your favour, one that may Love for an age, not for a day. One that will quench your youthfull fires, And feed in age your hot desires. For when the stormes of time have mou'd, Waves on that cheeke which was belou'd, When a faire Ladies face is pin'd And yellow spred, where red once shin'd, When beauty youth, and all sweets leave her, Love may returne, but lover never. And old folkes say there are no paynes

Like itch of love in aged vaines. Oh love me then, and now begin it, Let us not loose this present minute: For time and age will worke that wrack Which time or age shall ne're call backe. The snake each yeare fresh skin resumes, And Eagles change their aged plumes; The faded Rose each spring, receives A fresh red tincture on her leaves: But if your beauties once decay, You never know a second May. Oh, then be wise, and whilst your season Affords you dayes for sport doe reason; Spend not in vaine your lives short houre, But crop in time your beauties flower: Which will away, and doth together Both bud, and fade, both blow and wither.