Henry King, Bishop of Chichester (Генри Кинг, епископ Чичестерский)

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. 

1. Sonnet. VVere thy heart soft as thou art faire
2. To His Friends of Christ-Church upon the Mislike of the Marriage of the Arts Acted at Woodstock
3. Sonnet. Tell me you stars that our affections move
4. On the Earl of Essex
5. Another Of The Same, Paraphrased For An Antheme

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