 | Poems (1872) |  |
68
XVI. LOUE.
Loue is a discord and a strange diuorce
Betwixt our sence and rest, by whose power,
As mad with reason, we admit that force,
Which wit or labour neuer may diuorce.
It is a will that brooketh no consent,
It would refuse, yet neuer may repent.
Betwixt our sence and rest, by whose power,
As mad with reason, we admit that force,
Which wit or labour neuer may diuorce.
It is a will that brooketh no consent,
It would refuse, yet neuer may repent.
Loue's a desire, which for to waight a time,
Doth loose an age of yeares, and so doth passe,
As doth the shadow seuerd from his prime,
Seeming as though it were, yet neuer was.
Leauing behind, nought but repentant thoughts,
Of dayes ill spent, of that which profits noughts.
Doth loose an age of yeares, and so doth passe,
As doth the shadow seuerd from his prime,
Seeming as though it were, yet neuer was.
Leauing behind, nought but repentant thoughts,
Of dayes ill spent, of that which profits noughts.
It's now a peace, and then a sudden warre,
A hope, consumde before it is conceiu'd;
At hand it feares, and menaceth afarre,
And he that gaines, is most of all deceiu'd.
Loue whets the dullest wits, his plagues be such,
But makes the wise by pleasing, dote as much.
A hope, consumde before it is conceiu'd;
At hand it feares, and menaceth afarre,
And he that gaines, is most of all deceiu'd.
Loue whets the dullest wits, his plagues be such,
But makes the wise by pleasing, dote as much.
| Poems (1872) | |