WIth thousand bands of furious inward heat, Love binds my soul; and burns my gentle heart: And, two ways, Laura, death to me doth threat: With Colour fresh; and wanton Eye, like dart. This for reward for all my love I gain. For my goodwill, two enemies I have: Laura and Love. Four plagues conspire my pain, Because I like; and what 's but just, do crave: Fire, roseal Colour, Eyes, and cruel Band. These, at the gaze of Beauty, make me stand.
XXXVII.
IF scalding sighs, my faith may testify; And brinish tears, of love may warrant be: Both th' one and th' other thou hast seen with eye! Then what wouldst have, hard hearted! more of me? But thou, perhaps, though much I have endured, Wouldst yet be better of my faith assured. Then with thine eyes, into my breast do peer! Which, for the nonce, I leave to open sight; And that which now thou doubt'st, see shalt thou clear. Ah, mark it then; and view what shows so bright! But too too cruel art thou, and precise; That will not credit give to thine own eyes!
XXXVIII.
THe hapless Argus, happy in this same, The glory of the sun's surpassing light; The brightness of the stars, the fire which stain: With hundred eyes, behold them always might. But I, alas, who have but only twain, Cannot behold the beauty of my Sun! For which I live as blind, in endless pain; And count myself, for want thereof, undone. I can but wish that I an Argus were! With hundred eyes to view her everywhere.