Poem by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester

Sonnet. VVere thy heart soft as thou art faire

VVere thy heart soft as thou art faire,
Thou wer't a wonder past compare:
But frozen Love and fierce disdain
By their extremes thy graces stain.
Cold coyness quenches the still fires
Which glow in Lovers warm desires;
And scorn, like the quick Lightnings blaze,
Darts death against affections gaze.
O Heavens, what prodigy is this
When Love in Beauty buried is!
Or that dead pity thus should be
Tomb'd in a living cruelty.

1. The Boyes Answer To The Blackmoor
2. Sonnet. Go thou that vainly do'st mine eyes invite
3. To His Friends of Christ-Church upon the Mislike of the Marriage of the Arts Acted at Woodstock
4. To My Sister Anne King, Who Chid Me In Verse For Being Angry
5. Madam Gabrina, Or The Ill-Favourd Choice

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