‘Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame Go where it doth deserve.’ ‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘who bore the blame? ‘My dear, then I will serve.’ ‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’ So I did sit and eat.
WHEN God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, ‘Let us,’ said He, ‘pour on him all we can; Let the world’s riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span.’
So strength first made a way, Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour pleasure; When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure, Rest in the bottom lay.
‘For if I should,’ said He, ‘Bestow this jewel also on My creature, He would adore My gifts instead of Me, And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature: So both should losers be.
‘Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness; Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to My breast.’
I STRUCK the board, and cried, ‘No more; I will abroad. What, shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit? Sure there was wine Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn Before my tears did drown it; Is the year only lost to me? Have I no bays to crown it, No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, All wasted? Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit and not; forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands, Which petty thoughts have made; and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw, And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away! take heed; I will abroad. Call in thy death’s-head there, tie-up thy fears; He that forbears To suit and serve his need Deserves his load.’ But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild At every word, Methought I heard one calling, ‘Child’; And I replied, ‘My Lord.’
I MADE a posy while the day ran by: Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band; But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they By noon most cunningly did steal away, And withered in my hand.