Twist ye, twine ye! even so, Mingle shades of joy and woe, Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, In the thread of human life.
While the mystic twist is spinning, Aid the infant’s life beginning, Dimly seen through twilight bending, Lo, what varied shapes attending!
Passions wild, and follies vain, Pleasures soon exchanged for pain; Doubt, and jealousy, and fear, In the magic dance appear.
Now they wax, and now they dwindle, Whirling with the whirling spindle. Twist ye, twine ye! even so, Mingle human bliss and woe.
[ TO LUCASTA, ON
GOING TO THE WARS]
Tell me not (sweet) I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly.
True: a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such, As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Lov’d I not Honour more.