Archive for November 18th, 2017

Saturday, 18 November 2017

Sonnett 3 by Dudley North

I doe not Love, it is most true,
Nor know I yett where Love is due.
For Love should not its growth prepare
But when perfections past compare
Attract and cherish like the Sunn,
And seeke t’enthrall all hearts to One.
Perfection such can hardly bee
In Man, whose spring is levity,
Whose summer is in faction spent,
Whose autumns fruit is discontent,
Old age is worse, yett women place
Theyr hearts on this unhappy race.
For mee I prize my freedome deare,
And shall not till the glorious day
When a new Phenix shall appeare,
Or love or give my selfe away.

From: Randall, Dale B. J., Gentle Flame: The Life and Verse of Dudley, Fourth Lord North (1602-1677), 1983, Duke University Press: Durham, N.C., p. 131.

Date: c1660

By: Dudley North (1602-1677)