The Works of Thomas Campion Complete Songs, Masques, and Treatises with a Selection of the Latin Verse: Edited with an introduction and notes by Walter R. Davis |
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 | The Works of Thomas Campion |  |
138
V.
[So tyr'd are all my thoughts, that sence and spirits faile]
So tyr'd are all my thoughts, that sence and spirits faile;
Mourning I pine, and know not what I ayle.
O what can yeeld ease to a minde,
Joy in nothing that can finde?
Mourning I pine, and know not what I ayle.
O what can yeeld ease to a minde,
Joy in nothing that can finde?
How are my powres fore-spoke? what strange distaste is this?
Hence, cruell hate of that which sweetest is:
Come, come delight, make my dull braine
Feele once heate of joy againe.
Hence, cruell hate of that which sweetest is:
Come, come delight, make my dull braine
Feele once heate of joy againe.
The lovers teares are sweet, their mover makes them so;
Proud of a wound the bleeding Souldiers grow:
Poore I alone, dreaming, endure
Griefe that knowes nor cause, nor cure.
Proud of a wound the bleeding Souldiers grow:
Poore I alone, dreaming, endure
Griefe that knowes nor cause, nor cure.
And whence can all this grow? even from an idle minde,
That no delight in any good can finde.
Action alone makes the soule blest:
Vertue dyes with too much rest.
That no delight in any good can finde.
Action alone makes the soule blest:
Vertue dyes with too much rest.
| The Works of Thomas Campion | |