Is either senseless, or not born to love.
XXI.
Alcilia's eyes have set my heart on fire,
The pleasing object that my pain doth feed:
Yet still to see those eyes I do desire,
As if my help should from my hurt proceed.
Happy were I, might there in her be found
A will to heal, as there was power to wound.
XXII.
Unwise was he, that painted Love a boy;