Poor foul, the center of my
Fool'd by thofe rebel powers that thee array,
Why doft thou pine within, and fuffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls fo coftly gay?
Why fo large cost, having so short a lease,
Doft thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then, foul, live thou upon thy fervant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in felling hours of drofs;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So fhalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And, death once dead, there's no more dying then.
My love is as a fever, longing ftill
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain fickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I defperate now approve,
Defire is death, which phyfick did except.
Paft cure I am, now reafon is past care,
And frantick-mad with ever-more unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,
At random from the truth vainly exprefs'd;
For I have fworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true fight?
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That cenfures falfely what they see aright?
If that be fair' whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to fay it is not fo?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no,
How can it? O how can Love's eye be true,
That is fo vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then though I mistake my view;
The fun itself fees not, till heaven clears.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'ft me blind,
Left eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
Canft thou, O cruel! fay I love thee not,
When I, against myself, with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy fake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay if thou lowr'ft on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those that can fee thou lov'ft, and I am blind.
O from what power haft thou this powerful might, With infufficiency my heart to fway?
To make me give the lie to my true fight,
And fwear that brightnefs doth not grace the day? Whence haft thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That in my mind, thy worst all beft exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and fee just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou should'st not abhor my state;
If thy unworthinefs rais'd love in me,
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.
Love is too young to know what confcience is;
Yet who knows not, confcience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amifs,
Left guilty of my faults thy fweet felf prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my grofs body's treason;
My foul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason;
But rifing at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy fide.
No want of confcience hold it that I call
'Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.
In loving thee thou know'ft I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forfworn, to me love swearing;
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee,
And all my honest faith in thee is loft:
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy conftancy;
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them fwear against the thing they fee;
For I have fworn thee fair: more perjur'd I,
To fwear, against the truth, fo foul a lie!
Cupid lay'd by his brand, and fell asleep :
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love
A dateless lively heat, ftill to endure,
And grew a feething bath which yet men prove,
Against strange maladies a fovereign cure.
mistress' eye love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I fick withal, the help of bath defired,
And hither hied, a fad diftemper'd guest,
But found no cure; the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
The little love-god lying once asleep,
Laid by his fide his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chafte life to keep,
Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And fo the general of hot defire
Was fleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand the quenched in a cool well by,
Which from love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men difeas'd; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
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