SOUL AND BODY POOR soul, the centre of my sinful earth, [Foil'd by] these rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. MADNESS OF LOVE My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Past cure am, now reason is past care, My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. PASSION-BLINDNESS O ME, what eyes hath Love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight! Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true, O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. A LAST APPEAL CANST thou, O cruel! say I love thee not, When I against myself with thee partake? Do I not think on thee, when I forgot Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? What merit do I in myself respect, But, Love, hate on, for now I know thy mind; Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. O, DE PROFUNDIS FROM what power hast thou this powerful might With insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warrantise of skill Who taught thee how to make me love thee more If thy unworthiness raised love in me, |