The world’s a quarry for whose spoils
Love, the untiring miner, toils
Early and late, such stones to get
As may be cut devised and set
Into his mistress’ carcanet.
Alack that love can never choose
But bring thee pebbles of no use:—
Glance at the gift and thou shalt see
Each facet in his treasury
Of stones doth but diminish thee.