Poem by Thomas Carew

A Looking-Glass

THAT flatt'ring glass, whose smooth face wears
Your shadow, which a sun appears,
Was once a river of my tears.

About your cold heart they did make
A circle, where the briny lake
Congeal'd into a crystal cake.

Gaze no more on that killing eye,
For fear the native cruelty
Doom you, as it doth all, to die:

For fear lest the fair object move
Your froward heart to fall in love:
Then you yourself my rival prove.

Look rather on my pale cheeks pined,
There view your beauties, there you'll find
A fair face, but a cruel mind.

Be not for ever frozen, coy!
One beam of love will soon destroy
And melt that ice to floods of joy.

1. Epitaph for Maria Wentworth
2. Murdering Beauty
3. The Primrose
4. Secrecy Protested
5. I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair

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