Vertue
Jonathan Dove
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright
The bridall of the earth and skie
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye
Thy root is ever in its grave
And thou must die.
Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses
A box where sweets compacted lie
My musick shows ye have your closes
And all must die.
Onely a sweet and vertuous soul,
Like season'd timber, never gives
But though the whole world turn to coal
Then chiefly lives.