And so I see, and seeing want withal,

And wanting so, unto my death I draw:

And so my death were twenty times my friend,
If with this verse my hated life might end.

ODE VI.

THE KIND LOVER'S COMPLAINT IN FINDING NOTHING BUT FOLLY FOR HIS FAITHFULNESS.2

If my distress be your delight;

If war in me procure you peace;

If

wrong to me, to you be right;

I would, decay, distress, war, wrong,
Might end the life that ends so long.

Yet, if by my decay you grow,
When I am spent your growth is past;
If from my grief your joy do flow,
When my grief ends, your joy flies fast:
Then for your sake, though to my pain,
I strive to live, to die full fain.

heated,—in the second edition, but as in the text in the first. This title is not in the first edition.

For if I die, my war must cease;
Then can I suffer wrong no more:
My war once done, farewell your peace,
My wrong, your right doth still restore:
Thus for your right I suffer wrong;
And for your peace, my war prolong.

But since no thing can long endure,
That sometime hath not needful rest;
What can my life your joy assure,
If still I wail, with grief opprest?
The strongest stomach faints at last,
For want of ease and due repast.

My restless sighs break out so fast,
That time to breathe they quite deny:
Mine

eyes so many tears have cast,

That now the springs themselves are dry.
Then grant some little ease from pain,
Until the spring be full again.

The giant whom the vulture gnaws,

Until his heart be grown, hath peace:

And Sisyphus, by hellish laws,

Whilst that the stone rolls down, doth cease.

But all in vain I strive for rest,

Which breeds more sorrow in my breast.

Let my decay be your increase,
Let my distress be your delight:

Let war in me procure your peace,
Let wrong in me to you be right;
That by my grief your joy may live,
Vouchsafe some little rest to give.

ODE VII.

UNHAPPY EYES.

CLOSE your lids, unhappy eyes,
From the sight of such a change:
Love hath learned to despise;
Self-conceit hath made him strange:
Inward now his sight he turneth,
With himself in love he burneth.

If abroad he beauty spy,

As by chance he looks abroad;

Or it is wrought by his eye,

Or forc'd out by painter's fraud:

Save himself none fair, he deemeth,
That himself too much esteemeth.

Coy disdain hath kindness' place,'
Kindness forc'd to hide his head :
True desire is counted base;
Hope with hope is hardly fed:
Love is thought a fury needless,
He that hath it shall die speedless.

Then, mine eyes, why gaze you so?
Beauty scorns the tears you shed;
Death seek to end my woe,

you

Oh! that you of death were sped:

But with Love hath Death conspired
To kill none whom Love hath fired.

CUPID SHOOTS LIGHT, BUT WOUNDS SORE.* CUPID, at length I spy thy crafty wile, Though for a time thou didst me sore beguile. When first thy shaft did wound my tender heart, It touch'd me light; methought I felt some pain; Some little prick at first did make me smart, But yet that grief was quickly gone again. Full small account I made of such a sore, As now doth rankle inward more and more.

a This line is omitted in the first edition.

So poison first the sinews lightly strains,

Then strays, and after spreads through all the veins ;
No otherwise, than he, that prick'd with thorn,

Starts at the first, and feels no other grief;

As one whose heart so little hurt did scorn,
And deigned not to seek despised relief:
At last when rest doth after travel come,
That little prick the joint with pain doth numb.

What may I think the cause of this thy craft,
That at the first thou stick'st not deep thy shaft?
If at the first I had thy stroke espied,
(Alas, I thought thou would'st not dally so!)
To keep myself always I would have tried ;
At least I think I might have cur'd my woe;
Yet, truth to say, I did suspect no less;
And knew it too; at least, I so did guess.

I saw, and yet would willingly be blind:
I felt the sting, yet flatter'd still my mind;
And now, too late, I know my former guilt,
And seek in vain to heal my cureless sore:

c stick'st. In the Lee Priory edition strik'st is suggested as the proper reading: but it is submitted that "to stick deep a shaft" is as correct, though perhaps not so elegant, as "to strike deep," &c.

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