The Pink

Fair one, you did on me bestow

Comparisons too sweet to ow;

And but I found them sent from you

I durst not think they could be true.

But 'tis your uncontrolled power

Goddess-like to produce a flower,

And by your breath, without more seed,

Make that a Pink which was a Weed.

Because I would be loth to miss

So sweet a Metamorphosis,

Upon what stalk soere I grow

Disdain not you sometimes to blow

And cherish by your Virgin eye

What in your frown would droop and die:

So shall my thankful leaf repay

Perfumed wishes every day:

And o're your fortune breathe a spell

Which may his obligation tell,

Who though he nought but air can give

Must ever your (Sweet) creature live.