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Pox o' your friends, that dote and domineer!
Lovers are better friends than they :
Let's those in other things obey;
Vain names of blood ! in love let none
No other thought has had access !
Did she now beg, I'd love no less,
Were she as just and true to me,
Vain shadow! which dost vanish quite,
Both at full noon and perfect night! The stars have not a possibility
Of blessing thee;
Hope! thou bold taster of delight,
Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leavest us poor,
Good fortunes without gain imported be,
Such mighty custom's paid to thee. For joy, like wine, kept close does better taste; If it take air before, its spirits waste.
Hope! Fortune's cheating lottery ! Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be; Fond archer, Hope! who takest thy aim so far, That still or short or wide thine arrows are!
Thin, empty cloud, which the eye deceives
With shapes that our own fancy gives !
But must drop presently in tears !
Brother of Fear, more gayly clad ! The merrier fool o' the two, yet quite as mad: Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire ! That blow'st the chemics, and the lovers, fire,
Leading them still insensibly on
By the strange witchcraft of “ Anon!"
Her endless labyrinths, pursue ;
goes More ways
and turns than hunted Nature knows.
FOR HOPE. Hope! of all ills that men endure, The only cheap and universal cure! Thou captive's freedom, and thou sick man's health; Thou loser's victory, and thou beggar's wealth !
Thou manna, which from heaven we eat,
taste a several meat!
Which nought has power to alienate ! Thou pleasant, honest flatterer ! for none Flatter unhappy men, but thou alone !
Hope! thou first-fruits of happiness! Thou gentle dawning of a bright success! Thou good preparative, without which our joy Does work too strong, and, whilst it cures, destroy!
Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand,
And art a blessing still in hand!
We certain are to gain,
Brother of Faith! 'twixt whom and thee
Happiness itself’s all one
In thee, or in possession !
Thine's the more hard and noble bliss :
Hope! thou sad lovers' only friend !
Fruition more deceitful is
Men leave thee by obtaining, and straight flee
Some other way again to thee ;
When first I let thee in,
my unwary heart,
At mine own breast with care I fed thee still,
Letting thee suck thy fill;
What ill returns dost thou allow !-
There was a time when thou wast cold and chill,
Nor hadst the power of doing ill ;
Not fearing from it any harm ;
And the whole field 'twill overgrow ;
Nay, unless something soon I do, "Twill kill, I fear, my very laurel too.
But now all's gone-I now, alas ! complain,
Declare, protest, and threat, in vain;
And is so settled in the throne,
THE FRAILTY. I KNOW 'tis sordid and 'tis low (All this as well as you I know) Which I so hotly now pursue (I know all this as well as you);
But, whilst this cursed flesh I bear, And all the weakness and the baseness there, Alas! alas ! it will be always so.
In vain, exceedingly in vain,
For, if the chiefest Christian Head
COLDNESS. As water fluid is, till it do grow
Solid and fix'd by cold ;
Frost only can it hold: