text
stringlengths 0
85
|
|---|
That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. |
142 |
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, |
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving, |
O but with mine, compare thou thine own state, |
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, |
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine, |
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments, |
And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, |
Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents. |
Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov'st those, |
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee, |
Root pity in thy heart that when it grows, |
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. |
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, |
By self-example mayst thou be denied. |
143 |
Lo as a careful huswife runs to catch, |
One of her feathered creatures broke away, |
Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch |
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay: |
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, |
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent, |
To follow that which flies before her face: |
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; |
So run'st thou after that which flies from thee, |
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind, |
But if thou catch thy hope turn back to me: |
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind. |
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will, |
If thou turn back and my loud crying still. |
144 |
Two loves I have of comfort and despair, |
Which like two spirits do suggest me still, |
The better angel is a man right fair: |
The worser spirit a woman coloured ill. |
To win me soon to hell my female evil, |
Tempteth my better angel from my side, |
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil: |
Wooing his purity with her foul pride. |
And whether that my angel be turned fiend, |
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell, |
But being both from me both to each friend, |
I guess one angel in another's hell. |
Yet this shall I ne'er know but live in doubt, |
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. |
145 |
Those lips that Love's own hand did make, |
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate', |
To me that languished for her sake: |
But when she saw my woeful state, |
Straight in her heart did mercy come, |
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet, |
Was used in giving gentle doom: |
And taught it thus anew to greet: |
'I hate' she altered with an end, |
That followed it as gentle day, |
Doth follow night who like a fiend |
From heaven to hell is flown away. |
'I hate', from hate away she threw, |
And saved my life saying 'not you'. |
146 |
Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth, |
My sinful earth these rebel powers array, |
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth |
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? |
Why so large cost having so short a lease, |
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? |
Shall worms inheritors of this excess |
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? |
Then soul live thou upon thy servant's loss, |
And let that pine to aggravate thy store; |
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; |
Within be fed, without be rich no more, |
So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men, |
And death once dead, there's no more dying then. |
147 |
My love is as a fever longing still, |
For that which longer nurseth the disease, |
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, |
Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please: |
My reason the physician to my love, |
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept |
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, |
Desire is death, which physic did except. |
Past cure I am, now reason is past care, |
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest, |
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, |