the paraphrase.
All fortune's blessings disappear, She's fickle as the wind; And now I find her as severe As once I thought her kind. How soon the fleeting pleasures passed! How long the lingering sorrows last! Unconstant goddess, in thy haste, Do not thy prostrate slave destroy, I'd ne'er complain, but bless my fate, Could I recall departed joy.
Of all thy gifts I beg but this, Glut all mankind with more, Transport them with redoubled bliss, But only mine restore. With thought of pleasure once possessed, I'm now as cursed as I was blessed: Oh, would the charming hours return, How pleased I'd live, how free from pain, I ne'er would pine, I ne'er would mourn. Though barred the hopes of greater gain.
But oh, the blessing I implore Not fate itself can give! Since time elapsed exists no more, No power can bid it live. Our days soon vanish into naught, And have no being but in thought. Whate'er began must end at last, In vain we twice would youth enjoy, In vain would we recall the past, Or now the future hours employ.
Deceived by hope, and racked by fear, No longer life can please; I'll then no more its torments bear, Since death so soon can ease. This hour I'll die—but, let me pause— A rising doubt my courage awes. Assist, ye powers that rule my fate, Alarm my thoughts, my rage restrain, Convince my soul there's yet a state That must succeed my present pain.
O Flattery, how potent is thy sway! How wide the bounds of thy pleasing jurisdiction!
On the story of Pyramus and Thisbe.
sonnet.