Thomas Carew

Give me more love or more disdain;The torrid, or the frozen zone,

He that loves a rosy cheek,Or a coral lip admires,

Though frost and snow lock’d from mine eyesThat beauty which without door lies,

Know, Celia, since thou art so proud,’Twas I that gave thee thy renown.

In Nature’s pieces still I seeSome error, that might mended be;

If the quick spirits in your eyeNow languish, and anon must die;