Yea, and he that thinks to win
By Desert, may be deceivèd!
For they who have worthiest bin,
Of their right, have been bereavèd;
And a groom admitted in.
Wherefore, Muse! to thee I call!
Thou, since nothing else avails me,
Must redeem me from my thrall!
If thy sweet enchantment fails me;
Then, adieu Love, Life, and all!
II.
Tell me, my heart! What thoughts, these pantings move?
My thoughts of Love!
What flames are these, that set thee so on fire?
Flames of Desire!
What means hast thou, contentment's flower to crop?
No means but Hope!
Yet let us feed on Hope, and hope the best!
For they, amid their griefs, are something blest,
Whose thoughts, and flames, and means have such free scope,
They may, at once, both Love, Desire, and Hope.
But say! What fruit will love at last obtain?
Fruitless Disdain!
What will those hopes prove, which yet seem so fair?
Hopeless Despair!
What end shall run those Passions, out of breath?
An endless Death!
O can there be such cruelty in love?
And doth my fortune so ungentle prove,
She will no fruit, nor hope, nor end bequeath,
But cruelest Disdain, Despair, and Death?
Then what new study shall I now apply?
Study to Die!
How might I end my care, and die content?
Care to Repent!
And what good thoughts may make my end more holy?
Think on thy Folly!
Yes, so I will! and since my fate can give
No hope, but ever without hope to live,
My studies, cares, and thoughts, I'll all apply
To weigh my Folly well! Repent! and Die!