5 When every man is bent to sport,
Then, pensive, I alone resort
Into some solitary walk,
As doth the doleful turtle-dove,
Who, having lost her faithful love,
Sits mourning on some wither'd stalk.
6 There to myself I do recount
How far my woes my joys surmount,
How love requiteth me with hate,
How all my pleasures end in pain,
How hate doth say my hope is vain,
How fortune frowns upon my state.
7 And in this mood, charged with despair,
With vapour'd sighs I dim the air,
And to the gods make this request,
That by the ending of my life,
I may have truce with this strange strife,
And bring my soul to better rest.
THE SOUL'S ERRAND.
1 Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand,
Fear not to touch the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant;
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
2 Go tell the Court it glows,
And shines like rotten wood;
Go, tell the Church it shows
What's good and doth no good;
If Church and Court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
3 Tell potentates they live,
Acting by others' actions,
Not loved, unless they give,
Not strong, but by their factions;
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
4 Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
5 Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending;
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.
6 Tell Zeal it lacks devotion,
Tell Love it is but lust,
Tell Time it is but motion,
Tell Flesh it is but dust;
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.