By John Ford
Can you paint a thought? or number
Every fancy in a slumber?
Can you count soft minutes roving
From a dial's point by moving?
Can you grasp a sigh? or lastly,
Rob a virgin's honour chastly?
No, O no; yet you may
Sooner do both that and this,
This and that, and never miss,
Then by any praise display
Beauty's beauty, such a glory
As beyond all fate, all story,
All arms, all arts,
All loves, all hearts,
Greater then those, or they,
Do, shall, and must obey.
John Ford (1586 – c. 1639) was an English playwright and poet of the Jacobean and Caroline eras
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