Delia XXXI (1623 version)

Look, Delia, how w' esteem the half-blown rose,The image of thy blush and summer's honour,Whilst yet her tender bud doth undiscloseThat full of beauty Time bestows upon her.No sooner spreads her glory in the airBut straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline;She then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair;So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine.No April can revive thy wither'd flowersWhose springing grace adorns thy glory now;Swift speedy Time, feather'd with flying hours,Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain,But love now, whilst thou mayst be lov'd again.