Mary Wroth
When every one to pleasing pastime hies
Some hunt, some hawk, some play, while some delight
In sweet discourse, and music shows joy's might
Yet I my thoughts do far above these prize
The joy which I take, is that free from eyes
I sit, and wonder at this day-like night
So to dispose themselves, as void of right;
And leave true pleasure for poor vanities
When others hunt, my thoughts I have in chase;
If hawk, my mind at wished end doth fly,
Discourse, I, with my spirit talk, and cry
While others, music is their greatest grace.
O God, say I, can these fond pleasures move?
Or music be but in dear thoughts of love?