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George Herbert - The Rose
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Presse me not to take more pleasure
       In this world of sugred lies,
And to use a larger measure
       Than my strict, yet welcome size.

First, there is no pleasure here:
       Colour`d griefs indeed there are,
Blushing woes, that look as cleare,
       As if they could beautie spare.

Or if such deceits there be,
       Such delights I meant to say;
There are no such things to me,
       Who have pass`d my right away.

But I will not much oppse
       Unto what you now advise:
Onely take this gentle rose,
       And therein my answer lies.

What is fairer then a rose?
       What is sweeter? yet it purgeth.
Purgings enmitie disclose,
       Enmitie forbearance urgeth.

If then all that worldlings prize
       Be contracted to a rose;
Sweetly there indeed it lies,
       But it biteth in the close.

So this flower doth judge and sentence
       Worldly joyes to be a scourge:
For they all produce repentance,
       And repentance is a purge.

But I health, not physick choose:
       Onely through I you oppose,
Say that fairly I refuse,
       For my answer is a rose.
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