Compare me to Pygmalion with his image sotted,
For, as was he, even so am I deceived.
The shadow only is to me allotted,
The substance hath of substance me bereaved.
Then poor and helpless must I wander still
In deep laments to pass succeeding days,
Welt'ring in woes that poor and mighty kill.
O who is mighty that so soon decays!
The dread Almighty hath appointed so
The final period of all worldly things.
Then as in time they come, so must they go;
Death common is to beggars and to kings
For whither do I run beside my text?
I run to death, for death must be the next.
XXVI
The silly bird that hastes unto the net,
And flutters to and fro till she be taken,
Doth look some food or succour there to get,
But loseth life, so much is she mistaken.
The foolish fly that fleeth to the flame
With ceaseless hovering and with restless flight,
Is burnèd straight to ashes in the same,
And finds her death where was her most delight
The proud aspiring boy that needs would pry
Into the secrets of the highest seat,
Had some conceit to gain content thereby,
Or else his folly sure was wondrous great.
These did through folly perish all and die:
And though I know it, even so do I.
XXVII
Poor worm, poor silly worm, alas, poor beast!
Fear makes thee hide thy head within the ground,
Because of creeping things thou art the least,
Yet every foot gives thee thy mortal wound.
But I, thy fellow worm, am in worse state,
For thou thy sun enjoyest, but I want mine.
I live in irksome night, O cruel fate!
My sun will never rise, nor ever shine.
Thus blind of light, mine eyes misguide my feet,
And baleful darkness makes me still afraid;
Men mock me when I stumble in the street,
And wonder how my young sight so decayed.
Yet do I joy in this, even when I fall,
That I shall see again and then see all.
XXVIII
Well may my soul, immortal and divine,
That is imprisoned in a lump of clay,
Breathe out laments until this body pine,
That from her takes her pleasures all away.
Pine then, thou loathèd prison of my life,
Untoward subject of the least aggrievance!
O let me die! Mortality is rife;
Death comes by wounds, by sickness, care, and chance.
O earth, the time will come when I'll resume thee,
And in thy bosom make my resting-place;
Then do not unto hardest sentence doom me;
Yield, yield betimes; I must and will have grace!
Richly shalt thou be entombed, since, for thy grave,
Fidessa, fair Fidessa, thou shalt have!
XXIX
Earth, take this earth wherein my spirits languish;
Spirits, leave this earth that doth in griefs retain you;
Griefs, chase this earth that it may fade with anguish;
Spirits, avoid these furies which do pain you!
O leave your loathsome prison; freedom gain you;
Your essence is divine; great is your power;
And yet you moan your wrongs and sore complain you,
Hoping for joy which fadeth every hour.
O spirits, your prison loathe and freedom gain you;
The destinies in deep laments have shut you
Of mortal hate, because they do disdain you,
And yet of joy that they in prison put you.
Earth, take this earth with thee to be enclosed;
Life is to me, and I to it, opposed!
XXX