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. To the Queen at Oxford
2. Madam Gabrina, Or The Ill-Favourd Choice
3. The Short Wooing
4. On Two Children Dying Of One Disease, And Buried In One Grave
5. Another Of The Same, Paraphrased For An Antheme

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