home | index | concordance | composite list of variants | help |
Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,
And he, whose thou art, being tyr'd before,
Will if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think
Thou call'st for more,
And in a false sleep even from thee shrink,
And then poor Aspen wretch, neglected thou
Bath'd in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie
A verier ghost than I;
What I will say, I will not tell the now,
Lest that preserve thee: and since my love is spent,
I'had rather thou should'st painfully repent,
Than by my threatnings rest still innocent.
The broken heart.
He is stark mad, who ever sayes,
That he hath been in love an hour,
Yet not that love so soon decayes,
But that it can ten in less space devour;
Who will believe me, if I swear
That I have had the Plague a year?
Who would not laugh at me, if I should say,
I saw a flash of Powder burn a day?
Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
If once into loves hands it come?
All other griefs allow a part
To other griefs, and ask themselves but some,
They come to us, but us love draws,
He swallows us and never chaws:
By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die,
He is the Tyrant Pike, and we the Frie.

[CW: If]