| |
| AS 1 oft as I behold, and see | |
| The sovereign beauty that me bound; | |
| The nigher my comfort is to me, | |
| Alas! the fresher is my wound. | |
| |
| As flame doth quench by rage of fire, | 5 |
| And running streams consume by rain; | |
| So doth the sight that I desire | |
| Appease my grief, and deadly pain. | |
| |
| Like as the fly that see’th the flame, | |
| And thinks to play her in the fire; | 10 |
| That found her woe, and sought her game | |
| Where grief did grow by her desire. | |
| |
| First when I saw those crystal streams, | |
| Whose beauty made my mortal wound; | |
| I little thought within their beams | 15 |
| So sweet a venom to have found. | |
| |
| But wilful will did prick me forth, | |
| Blind Cupid did me whip and guide; | |
| Force made me take my grief in worth; 2 | |
| My fruitless hope my harm did hide; | 20 |
| |
| Wherein is hid the cruel bit, | |
| Whose sharp repulse none can resist; | |
| And eke the spur that strains each wit | |
| To run the race against his list. | |
| |
| As cruel waves full oft be found | 25 |
| Against the rocks to roar and cry; | |
| So doth my heart full oft rebound | |
| Against my breast full bitterly. | |
| |
| And as the spider draws her line, | |
| With labour lost I frame my suit; | 30 |
| The fault is her’s, the loss is mine: | |
| Of ill sown seed, such is the fruit. | |
| |
| I fall, and see mine own decay; | |
| As he that bears flame in his breast, | |
| Forgets for pain to cast away | 35 |
| The thing that breedeth his unrest. 3 | |
