YOUTH made a fault through lightness of Belief, YOUTH Which fond Belief Love placed in my breast: But now I find, that Reason gives relief; And time shows Truth, and Wit that's bought, is best; I here take off his Bells, and let him fly. HY live I, wretch, and see my joys decay, WW Why live I and no hope of love's advancing: Why do mine eyes behold the sunny day, Why live I, wretch, in hope of better chancing. O wherefore tells my tongue this doleful tale, That every ear may hear my bitter plaint: Was never heart that yet bemoan'd my bale, Why live I, wretch, my pangs in vain to paint. Why strive I 'gainst the stream or 'gainst the hill, Why are my sorrows buried in the dust: Why do I toil and lose my labour still, Why do I feed on hope or build on trust. Since hope had never hap and trust finds treason, Why live I, wretch, disdain'd and see no reason? L OOK, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose, The image of thy blush, and summer's honour! Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose That full of beauty time bestows upon her. But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline; C ARE-CHARMER Sleep, son of the sable night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, Relieve my languish, and restore the light: With dark forgetting of my care return, And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, Without the torment of the night's untruth. Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, To model forth the passions of the morrow; Never let rising sun approve you liars, To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow: Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, And never wake to feel the day's disdain. OPE, like the hyaena, coming to be old, Halters his shape; is turned into Despair. Pity my hoary hopes! Maid of Clear Mould! Think not that frowns can ever make thee fair! |