…from the quills of dead white poets
Sir John Suckling (1609 – 1642)
Out upon it! I have lov’d
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.
Time shall moult away his wings,
Ere he shall discover
In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.
But the spite on ‘t is, no praise
Is due at all to me:
Love with me had made no stays
Had it any been but she.
Had it any be but she,
And that very face,
There had been at least ere this
A dozen dozen in her place.