Justice gives each man his own.
Though my love be just,
Yet will not She pity my grief!
Therefore die I must!
Silly heart! then yield to die!
Perish in despair!
Witness yet, how fain I die,
When I die for the Fair!
Toss not my soul, O Love! 'twixt hope and fear!
Show me some ground where I may firmly stand,
Or surely fall! I care not which appear!
So one will close me in a certain band.
When once of ill, the uttermost is known;
The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown!
Take me, Assurance! to thy blissful hold!
Or thou, Despair! unto thy darkest cell!
Each hath full rest! The one, in joys enroll'd:
Th' other, in that he fears no more, is well.
When once the uttermost of ill is known,
The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown!
Clear or cloudy, sweet as April show'ring,
Smooth or frowning, so is her Face to me.
Pleased or smiling, like mild May all flow'ring:
When skies, blue silk, and meadows, carpets be.
Her Speeches, notes of that night bird that singeth,
Who, thought all sweet, yet jarring notes outringeth.
Her Grace, like June, when earth and trees be trimmed
In best attire, of complete beauty's height.
Her Love again, like Summer's days be dimmed,
With little clouds of doubtful constant faith.
Her Trust, her Doubt, like rain and heat in skies;
Gently thund'ring, She light'ning to mine eyes.