DONNE.

Mean are all titles of nobility,

And kings poor spendthrifts, while I do compare

The wealth she daily lavishes on me

Of love, the noble kingdom that I share:

Is it the jealous year, for emphasis,

Sheds beauteous sunshine and refreshing dews?

My maiden’ s month doth softlier court and kiss,

Tint springtime’ s virgin cheek with rosier hues

Fly faster o’ er my page, impassioned quill,

Signing this note of mine with tenderer touch!

Say I no measure find to mete my will,

Say that I love, but cannot tell how much;

Let time and trouble the full story tell:

I cannot love thee more, I know I love thee well.