|
| Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye, |
| Till he be noysome as his infamy; |
| May he without remorse deny God thrice, |
| And not be trusted more on his souls price; |
| And after all self-torment, when he dyes, |
| May Wolves tear out his heart, Vultures his eyes; |
| Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue, |
| That utter'd all, be to some raven flung, |
| And let his carrion-coarse be a longer feast |
| To the Kings dogs, then any other beast. |
| Now I have curst, let us our love revive; |
| In me the flame was never more alive; |
| I could begin again to court and praise, |
| And in that pleasure lengthen the short dayes |
| Of my lifes lease; Like Painters that do take |
| Delight, not in made works, but whiles they make. |
| I could renew those times, when first I saw |
| Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law |
| To like what you lik'd; and at Maskes and Playes |
| Commend the self-same Actors, the same wayes; |
| Ask how you did, and often with intent |
| Of being officious, be impertinent; |
| All which were such soft pastimes, as in these |
| Love was as subtily catch'd, as a disease; |
| But being got, it is a treasure sweet, |
| Which to defend is harder then to get: |
| And ought not be prophan'd, on either part, |
| For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art |
|
| Elegie. XVIII. |
|
| Who ever loves, if he do not propose |
| The right true end of love, he's one that goes
|
[CW: To] |