This life is good, what’s good thou must improve,
The highest improvement of this life is love.
Had I (but O that envious Destinie,
Or Stygian vow, or thrice accursed charm
Should in this place free passage thus denie
Unto my shafts as messengers of harm!
Had I but once transfixt thy froward breast,
How would’st thou then——I staid not for the rest;
But thus half angry to the boy replide:
How would’st thou then my soul of sense bereave!