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68
THE INCONSTANT.
Thy smiles upon thy frowns do wait,
Thy frowns upon thy smiles attend;
Love bids me enter at the gate,
Then scorn my entrance doth forefend.
O truly false and falsely true,
What do I gain by loving you?
Thy frowns upon thy smiles attend;
Love bids me enter at the gate,
Then scorn my entrance doth forefend.
O truly false and falsely true,
What do I gain by loving you?
Thine eyes do give thy lips the lie,
Thy lips are liars to thine eyes;
Thy stealing glance, now bold, now shy,
With fickle light doth fall and rise:
Yet I must ask, whilst I pursue,
What do I gain by loving you?
Thy lips are liars to thine eyes;
Thy stealing glance, now bold, now shy,
With fickle light doth fall and rise:
Yet I must ask, whilst I pursue,
What do I gain by loving you?
But constant in inconstancy,
Thy wayward ways in wanton dress
From change to change do swiftly fly
Through varying shows of doubleness;
That still I say, as still I rue,
What do I gain by loving you?
Thy wayward ways in wanton dress
From change to change do swiftly fly
Through varying shows of doubleness;
That still I say, as still I rue,
What do I gain by loving you?
A little ribbon here displaced,
A lock disordered to the wind,
And straightway thou with love art graced;
And straightway I fresh sorrows find:
Yet though I sigh and sorely sue,
What do I gain by loving you?
A lock disordered to the wind,
And straightway thou with love art graced;
And straightway I fresh sorrows find:
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What do I gain by loving you?
Thou hast a heart and thou hast none;
Thou hast a love, but not for me;
And though I turn and would be gone,
Yet thou my heart wilt not let be;
But holding me with fetters new,
Make all my loss the loving you.
Thou hast a love, but not for me;
And though I turn and would be gone,
Yet thou my heart wilt not let be;
But holding me with fetters new,
Make all my loss the loving you.
An ignis fatuus of the mire
That leads the traveller in the slime,
The ashes of a wasted fire,
The cold inheritance of Time,
The withered blooms last season blew:
These do I gain by loving you.
That leads the traveller in the slime,
The ashes of a wasted fire,
The cold inheritance of Time,
The withered blooms last season blew:
These do I gain by loving you.
A barren harvest reaped from tears
Which in my bosom's depth were sown,
The labour of outwearied years,
The hapless hope, the grievous groan,
A clouded sky for cloudless blue:
These I do gain by loving you.
Which in my bosom's depth were sown,
The labour of outwearied years,
The hapless hope, the grievous groan,
A clouded sky for cloudless blue:
These I do gain by loving you.
A sickness more than any death,
A death which kills me day by day,
A woful weight of fleeting breath
That never yet will flit away,
A pain increase of pain doth woo:
All these I gain by loving you.
A death which kills me day by day,
A woful weight of fleeting breath
That never yet will flit away,
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All these I gain by loving you.
When Time shall garner to the dust
This wasting frame, and bid resign
The burden of long hope and trust
Which choke the life no longer mine,
Then shall I only find my true
And chiefest gain in loving you.
This wasting frame, and bid resign
The burden of long hope and trust
Which choke the life no longer mine,
Then shall I only find my true
And chiefest gain in loving you.
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