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ALEXANDER BROME

1620-1666

363                                               The Resolve

TELL me not of a face thats fair,
   Nor lip and cheek thats red,
Nor of the tresses of her hair,
   Nor curls in order laid,
Nor of a rare seraphic voice
   That like an angel sings;
Though if I were to take my choice
   I would have all these things:
But if that thou wilt have me love,
   And it must be a she,
The only argument can move
   Is that she will love me.
The glories of your ladies be
   But metaphors of things,
And but resemble what we see
   Each common object brings.
Roses out-red their lips and cheeks,
   Lilies their whiteness stain;
What fool is he that shadows seeks
   And may the substance gain?
Then if thoult have me love a lass,
   Let it be one thats kind:
Else Im a servant to the glass
   Thats with Canary lined.

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