| |
| FALSE 1 world, good night; since thou hast brought | |
| That houre upon my morne of age, | |
| Henceforth I quit thee from my thought; | |
| My part is ended on thy stage. | |
| Doe not once hope that thou canst tempt | 5 |
| A spirit so resolv’d to tread | |
| Upon thy throat and live exempt | |
| From all the nets that thou can’st spread. | |
| I know thy formes are studied arts, | |
| Thy subtill wayes be narrow straits; | 10 |
| Thy curtesie but sudden starts, | |
| And what thou call’st thy gifts are baits. | |
| I know too, though thou strut, and paint, | |
| Yet art thou both shrunke up, and old; | |
| That onely fooles make thee a saint, | 15 |
| And all thy good is to be sold. | |
| I know thou whole art but a shop | |
| Of toyes, and trifles, traps and snares | |
| To take the weak, or make them stop; | |
| Yet art thou falser than thy wares. | 20 |
| And, knowing this, should I yet stay, | |
| Like such as blow away their lives, | |
| And never will redeeme a day, | |
| Enamor’d of their golden gyves? | |
| Or having scap’d shall I returne, | 25 |
| And thrust my neck into the noose, | |
| From whence so lately I did burne | |
| With all my powers my selfe to loose? | |
| What bird or beast is knowne so dull, | |
| That fled his cage, or broke his chaine, | 30 |
| And tasting aire and freedome, wull | |
| Render his head in there againe! | |
| If these who have but sense can shun | |
| The engines that have them annoy’d, | |
| Little for mee had reason done | 35 |
| If I could not thy ginnes avoid. | |
| Yes, threaten, doe. Alas, I feare | |
| As little as I hope from thee! | |
| I know thou canst nor shew nor beare | |
| More hatred than thou hast to mee. | 40 |
| My tender, first and simple yeares | |
| Thou didst abuse, and then betray; | |
| Since stird’st up jealousies and feares | |
| When all the causes were away. | |
| Then in a soile hast planted me | 45 |
| Where breathe the basest of thy fooles; | |
| Where envious arts professed be, | |
| And pride and ignorance the schooles; | |
| Where nothing is examin’d, weigh’d, | |
| But as ’tis rumor’d so beleev’d: | 50 |
| Where every freedome is betray’d, | |
| And every goodnesse tax’d, or griev’d. | |
| But what we are borne for wee must beare; | |
| Our frail condition it is such | |
| That what to all may happen here, | 55 |
| If’t chance to mee, I must not grutch. | |
| Else I my state should much mistake | |
| To harbour a divided thought | |
| From all my kinde: that for my sake | |
| There should a miracle be wrought. | 60 |
| No, I doe know that I was borne | |
| To age, misfortune, sicknesse, griefe: | |
| But I will beare these with that scorne | |
| As shall not need thy false reliefe. | |
| Nor for my peace will I goe farre, | 65 |
| As wand’rers doe, that still doe rome: | |
| But make my strengths, such as they are, | |
| Here in my bosome and at home. | |
