How careful was I, when I took my way,
Each trifle under trueft bars to thrust,
That to my use it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Moft worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
Thou, beft of dearest and mine only care,
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not lock'd up in any cheft,
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breast,
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part ;
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear,
For truth proves thievish for a prize fo dear.
Against that time, if ever that time come,
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Call'd to that audit by advised respects;
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass,
And scarcely greet me with that fun, thine eye,
When love, converted from the thing it was.
Shall reasons find of settled gravity;
Against that time do I enfconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this hy hand against myself uprear,
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
Since why to love I can allege no cause.
How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I feek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee:
The bloody (pur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan
More sharp to me than spurring to his fide;
For that fame groan doth put this in my
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
Thus can my love excufe the flow offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I hafte me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I fpur, though mounted on the wind,
In winged speed no motion fhall I know:
Then can no horse with my defire keep pace;
Therefore defire, of perfect'st love being made,
Shall neigh, no dull flesh in his fiery race;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade,—
'Since from thee going he went wilful-slow,
Towards thee I'll run and give him leave to go.'
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his fweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour furvey,
For blunting the fine point of feldom pleasure.
Therefore are feafts fo folemn and fo rare,
Since, feldom coming, in the long year fet,
Like ftones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special inftant special bleft,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Bleffed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph; being lack'd, to hope.
|