[Fond aged man, why doe you on me gaze]
Wo.
Fond
aged man, why doe you on me gaze,
Knowing my answer? resolution take
Follow not fondly in an vnusd Maze
As if impossibilities to shake.
For know I hate you still, and your poore loue
Can mee as soone as Rocks to pitie moue.
Man.
Alas my dearest soule, too long I knew
I lou'd in vaine, your scorne I felt likewise,
Your hate I saw; yet must I still pursue
Your fairest sight, though you doe me despise;
For loue is blind, and though I aged be,
I can nor part from it, nor it from me.
Wo.
What blame dost thou deserue, if thou wilt still
Follow my hate, who will not breath to change,
And striue to gaine as if from scorne, or ill
Louing disdaine as Iuels rich, and strang:
Or canst thou vainely hope thy wailing cries
Can moue a pitty? no let this suffice.
Man.
Pitie, alas I nere could looke to see
So much good hap; yet Deere be not to cruell,
Though you thus young hate aged loue in me,
My loue hath youth, or you shall see loues fuell
Deseruing your reward, then not denie,
Let me now see those eyes kind, or I die.
Wo.
These eyes of mine thou neuer shalt behold,
If clouds of true disdaine may dim desire,
They shall as blacke be as thy faults are bold,
Demanding what's vnfit: a poore old fire
Wasted like Triumphs, sparcles onely liue,
And troubled rise from embers which outliue.
Man.
I doe confesse a boldnesse tis in me
Ought to resist, if your sweet selfe command;
Yet blind me needs you must, for if I see,
Mine eyes must rest on you, and gazing stand:
Heauen not forbids the bacest worme her way,
Hide that deare beauty, I must needs decay.
Wo.
My beauty I will hide, mine eyes put out,
Rather then be perplexed with thy sight,
A mischiefe certaine worse is, then a doubt,
Such is thy sight, thy absence my delight;
Yet mine the ill, since now with thee I stay.
Tyred with all misfortune cannot stray.
Man.
Thy beautie hide? O no, still cruell liue
To me most haplesse; dim not that bright light
Which to this Earth all lights and beauties giue.
Let me not cause for euer darkest night,
No, no, blessed be those eyes and fairest face,
Lights of my soule, and guides to all true grace.
My sweet commanderesse shall I yet obay
And leaue you here alas vnguarded? shall
I not then for sorrow euer stray
From quiet peace, or hope, and with curst thrall
Sit downe and end? yet if you say I must
Here will I bide in banishment accurst:
While you passe on as cruell, happy still
That none else triumph may vpon mine ill.
