Or those soft fetters of thy hair, A bondage that disdains All liberty, do guard thine ear Free from all other chains.
Then my complaint how canst thou hear, Or I this passion fly, Since thou imprison'd hast thine ear, And not confin'd thine eye? 20
[_Song--Celinda, &c._] Again, mere commonplace common measure. '_Those_ soft fetters of thy hair' (l. 13) is at least as good as 'mobled queen', but otherwise the phrase rather sinks to the measure. 'friends' (l. 9) is misprinted 'friend' in _1647_, and Sir Egerton has mispunctuated 'friends united'.]
Fool, take up thy shaft again; If thy store Thou profusely spend in vain, Who can furnish thee with more? Throw not then away thy darts On impenetrable hearts.
Think not thy pale flame can warm Into tears, Or dissolve the snowy charm Which her frozen bosom wears, 10 That expos'd, unmelted lies To the bright suns of her eyes.
But since thou thy power hast lost, Nor canst fire Kindle in that breast, whose frost Doth these flames in mine inspire, Not to thee but her I'll sue, That disdains both me and you.
[_Song--Fool, &c._] An extremely pretty measure, not ill-parted with phrase and imagery. The 'Take, oh! take' motive reappears.]
Delay! Alas, there cannot be To Love a greater tyranny: Those cruel beauties that have slain Their votaries by their disdain, Or studied torments, sharp and witty, Will be recorded for their pity, And after-ages be misled To think them kind, when this is spread. Of deaths the speediest is despair, Delays the slowest tortures are; 10 Thy cruelty at once destroys, But Expectation starves my joys. Time and Delay may bring me past The power of Love to cure, at last; And shouldst thou wish to ease my pain, Thy pity might be lent in vain; Or if thou hast decreed, that I Must fall beneath thy cruelty, O kill me soon! Thou wilt express More mercy, ev'n in showing less. 20
_Commanded by his Mistress to woo for her._
Strange kind of love! that knows no president, A faith so firm as passeth Faith's extent, By a tyrannic beauty long subdu'd, I now must sue for her to whom I su'd, Unhappy Orator! who, though I move For pity, pity cannot hope to prove: Employing thus against myself my breath, And in another's life begging my death.