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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Watch Sent Home To Mrs. Eliz: King, Wrapt In Theis Verses</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=539427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Goe and count her better houres;<br>They more happie are than ours.<br>The day that gives her any blisse<br>Make it as long againe as tis:<br>The houre shee smiles in lett it bee<br>By thy art increas'd to three:<br>But if shee frowne on thee or mee<br>Know night is made by her not thee:<br>Bee swift in such an houre, and soon<br>Make it night though it bee noone:<br>Obey her tymes, who is the free<br>Fayre sun that governes thee and mee</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Strode">William Strode</a></strong></div>

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