VII.
Ingrateful Love! since thou hast played thy part!
(Enthralling him, whom Time hath since made free)
It rests with me, to use both Wit and Art,
That of my wrongs I may revengèd be:
And in those eyes, where first thou took'st thy fire!
Thyself shalt perish, through my cold desire.
VIII.
"Grieve not thyself, for that cannot be had!
And things, once cureless, let them cureless rest!"
"Blame not thy fortune, though thou deem it bad!
What's past and gone will never be redrest."
"The only help, for that cannot be gained,
Is to forget it might have been obtained."
IX.
How happy, once, did I myself esteem!
While Love with Hope, my fond Desire did cherish;
My state as blissful as a King's did seem,
Had I been sure my joys should never perish.
"The thoughts of men are fed with expectation."
"Pleasures themselves are but imagination."
X.
Why should we hope for that which is to come,
Where the event is doubtful, and unknown?
Such fond presumptions soon receive their doom,
When things expected we count as our own;
Whose issue, ofttimes, in the end proves nought
But hope! a shadow, and an idle thought.
XI.