I am not sick, and yet I am not sound; I eat and sleep, and yet, methinks, I thrive not. I sport and laugh, and yet my griefs abound; I am not dead, and yet, methinks, I live not. "What uncouth cause hath these strange passions bred, To make at once, sick, sound, alive, and dead?"
Something I want; but what, I cannot say. O, now I know! It is myself I want! My Love, with her, hath ta'en my heart away; Yea, heart and all, and left me very scant. "Such power hath Love, and nought but Love alone, To make divided creatures live in one."
PHILOPARTHEN. "Come, gentle Death! and strike me with thy dart! Life is but loathsome to a man opprest." DEATH. "How can I kill thee! when thou hast no heart? That which thou hadst, is in another's breast!" PHILOPARTHEN. "Then, must I live, and languish still in pain?" DEATH. "Yea, till thy Love restore thy heart again!"
Were Love a Fire, my tears might quench it lightly; Or were it Water, my hot heart might dry it. If Air, then might it pass away more slightly; Or were it Earth, the world might soon descry it. If Fire nor Water, Air nor Earth it be; What then is it, that thus tormenteth me?
To paint her outward shape and gifts of mind, It doth exceed my wit and cunning far. She hath no fault, but that she is unkind. All other parts in her so complete are, That who, to view them throughly would devise, Must have his body nothing else but eyes.
Fair is my Love! whose parts are so well framed, By Nature's special order and direction; That She herself is more than half ashamed, In having made a work of such perfection. And well may Nature blush at such a feature; Seeing herself excelled in her creature.
Her body is straight, slender, and upright; Her visage comely, and her looks demure Mixt with a cheerful grace that yields delight; Her eyes, like stars, bright, shining, clear and pure: Which I describing, LOVE bids stay my pen, And says, "It's not a work for mortal men!"
The ancient poets write of Graces three, Which meeting all together in one creature, In all points, perfect make the Frame to be; For inward virtues, and for outward feature But smile, ALCILIA! and the world shall see That in thine eyes, a hundred Graces be!
As LOVE had drawn his bow, ready to shoot, Aiming at me, with resolute intent; Straight, bow and shaft he cast down at his foot, And said, "Why, needless, should one shaft be spent? I'll spare it then, and now it shall suffice Instead of shafts, to use ALCILIA's eyes."