| |
| PAINTER, while there thou sit’st drawing the sight | |
| That her unkind regard hath dyed in grief, | |
| Dip black thy pencil, and forget the white, | |
| That thou bestow’st on looks that win belief; | |
| And when thy work is done, then let her see | 5 |
| The humble image of her cruelty. | |
| |
| Or if t’ unfold the sense of her disdain | |
| Exceeds the narrow limits of thine art, | |
| Then blot thy table, and forget thy pain, | |
| Till thou hast learned the colours of her heart; | 10 |
| And let her then no sight or other show | |
| But that void place where thou hast painted woe. | |
| |
| Tell her that those whom th’ heavens’ injuries | |
| Have kept at sea in wandering desperation | |
| Sit down at length, and brag of miseries, | 15 |
| The highest measure of their ostentation. | |
| So hath she lost me till my latest glory | |
| Is her content, and my affliction’s story. | |
| |
| Tell her that tears and sighs shall never cease | |
| With flowing streams, to sink her in conceit, | 20 |
| Till at the length she pity or release | |
| The gentle heart that on her eyes did wait, | |
| Pure lights embracing in each other’s scope | |
| The strength of faith and weaknesses of hope. | |
| |
| Thus do I breathe forth my unhappiness, | 25 |
| And play with rhymes, as if my thoughts were free, | |
| Wherein if I had power but to express | |
| Her name, the world would with my griefs agree. | |
| But, idle vein! consume thyself in this. | |
| That I have sworn to bury what she is. 1 | 30 |
