Stones from The Quarry | ||
241
LOVELACE AGAIN.
Oh, that of such a heart Fortune should makeHer tennis-ball, to knock it to and fro
In her rude game of chance, now high, now low;
Catch it at the rebound, with nought to break
The fall; and when best aimed still cause to take
The bias, and deliver foul her blow;
And when she's got thee down to keep thee so,
Because for Honour more than for her sake
Thou took'st the odds! Base Arbitress is she;
False balances she hath, uses false weights.
Because with honey of their Hybla bee
The Muses reared, and sweetened so thy Fates,
She took thy best at worst, and wrangled with thee
For basest things 'gainst greatest, in sore straits!
Stones from The Quarry | ||