| William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907. | | | | To the Blest Evanthe | | By John Fletcher (1579–1625) |
| | | LET those complain that feel Love’s cruelty, | |
| And in sad legends write their woes; | |
| With roses gently ’has corrected me, | |
| My war is without rage or blows: | |
| My mistress’ eyes shine fair on my desires, | 5 |
| And hope springs up inflamed with her new fires. | |
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| No more an exile will I dwell, | |
| With folded arms, and sighs all day, | |
| Reckoning the torments of my hell, | |
| And flinging my sweet joys away: | 10 |
| I am called home again to quiet peace; | |
| My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease. | |
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| Yet, what is living in her eye, | |
| Or being bless’d with her sweet tongue, | |
| If these no other joys imply? | 15 |
| A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong: | |
| To be your own but one poor month, I’d give | |
| My youth, my fortune, and then leave to live. | | | | |
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