 | Parthenophil and Parthenophe |  |
77
ELEGIE III.
[Sweet thralldome by loues sweet impression wrought]
Sweet thralldome by loues sweet impression wrought,Loues in that bondage euer let me liue,
For loue hath brought me bondslaue with a thought
And to my thoughtes loue did me bondman giue.
Ah me my thoughtes poore prisoner shall I rest?
And shall my thoughtes make triumph ouer mee?
First to fierce famish't Lyons stand adrest,
Or let huge rockes, and mountaines couer thee.
Behold, one to his fancies made a praye,
A poore Actæon with his houndes deuour'd,
An oke with his greene Iuy worne awaye,
A wretch consum' with plenties great downe powr'd:
A garment with his moath, dispoyl'd, and rotten:
A thorne with his bred Caterpiller cancerd,
A buried Cæsar, with his fame forgotten,
A friend betrayd by those on whom he ancer'd,
Behold a fire consum'd with his owne heate,
An iron worne away with his owne rust,
But weare myne hart of oke, this rage would eate
Still fresh as Iuy myne hard oke to dust,
And were my pleasures durable as steele,
Dispaire would force they should times cancor feele.
| Parthenophil and Parthenophe | |