Let it not your wonder move, <br /> Less your laughter, that I love. <br /> Though I now write fifty years, <br /> I have had, and have, my peers; <br /> Poets, though divine, are men, <br /> Some have lov'd as old again. <br /> And it is not always face, <br /> Clothes, or fortune, gives the grace; <br /> Or the feature, or the youth. <br /> But the language and the truth, <br /> With the ardour and the passion, <br /> Gives the lover weight and fashion. <br /> If you then will read the story, <br /> First prepare you to be sorry <br /> That you never knew till now <br /> Either whom to love or how; <br /> But be glad, as soon with me, <br /> When you know that this is she <br /> Of whose beauty it was sung; <br /> She shall make the old man young, <br /> Keep the middle age at stay, <br /> And let nothing high decay, <br /> Till she be the reason why <br /> All the world for love may die.<br /><br />Benjamin Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-celebration-of-charis-i-his-excuse-for-loving/
