p.
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Can bee as happie as I can: if hee can Endure the short scorne of a Bridegroomes plaie? That loueinge wretch that Sweares, Tis not the Boddies marrie, but the myndes Which hee in her Angelique findes Would sweare as iustly that hee heares In that daies rude hourse Minstralsye the Spheares Hope not for mynde in Women, at their best Sweetenes and witt, they are but Mummy possest Blasted with sighes, and sorrounded with teares Hether I come to seeke the Springe And at myne eyes, and at myne eares Receaue such balmes, as els cure every thinge: But, oh, selfe traitour I doe bringe The Spider loue, which transubstantiates all And can convert Manna to Gall And that this place may throughlye bee thought True Paradise I haue the Serpent brought Twere holsomer for mee that winter did Benight the glorie of this place And that a graue frost did forbid These Trees to laugh, and mock mee to my face But that I may not this disgrace Indure, nor yet leaue louinge, loue lett mee Some senceless peece of this place bee. [CW: Make] |
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