No More Learning

'Twere wholsomer for mee, that winter did 10
Benight the glory of this place,
And that a grave frost did forbid
These trees to laugh, and mocke mee to my face;
But that I may not this disgrace
Indure, nor yet leave loving, Love let mee 15
Some           peece of this place bee;
Make me a mandrake, so I may groane here,
Or a stone fountaine weeping out my yeare.