fair corse, and, as the air, And more inconstant than the sun’s beams, Driving back shadows over lowering hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love, And the place death, considering who thou art, by art as well as herbs,—grace and rude will; And where care lodges sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou