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Ben Jonson - My Picture Left in Scotland
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I now think Love is rather deaf than blind,
    For else it could not be
           That she,
    Whom I adore so much, should so slight me
    And cast my love behind.
    I`m sure my language to her was as sweet,
    And every close did meet
    In sentence of as subtle feet,
    As hath the youngest He
   That sits in shadow of Apollo`s tree.
   O, but my conscious fears,
   That fly my thoughts between,
   Tell me that she hath seen
   My hundred of gray hairs,
   Told seven and forty years
   Read so much waste, as she cannot embrace
   My mountain belly and my rocky face;
   And all these through her eyes have stopp`d her ears.
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