Direct reading · Original
Section 442
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Perd.
Out alas:
You’ld be so leane, that blasts of Ianuary
Would blow you through and through. Now (my fairst
(Friend,
I would I had some Flowres o’th Spring, that might
Become your time of day: and yours, and yours,
That weare vpon your Virgin‑branches yet
Your Maiden‑heads growing: O Proserpina,
For the Flowres now, that (frighted) thou let’st fall
From Dysses Waggon: Daffadils,
That come before the Swallow dares, and take
The windes of March with beauty: Violets (dim,
But sweeter then the lids of Iuno’s eyes,
Or Cytherea’s breath) pale Prime‑roses,
That dye vnmarried, ere they can behold