I struck the board, and cry’d, No more.
                 I will abroad.
     What? shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the rode,
     Loose as the winde, as large as store.
        Shall I be still in suit?
     Have I no harvest but a thorn
     To let me bloud, and not restore
     What I have lost with cordiall fruit?
                  Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did drie it: there was corn
        Before my tears did drown it.
     Is the yeare onely lost to me?
        Have I no bayes 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 pettie 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 deaths head there: tie up thy fears.
                  He that forbears
        To suit and serve his need,
                  Deserves his load.
But as I rav’d and grew more fierce and wilde
                  At every word,
Me thoughts I heard one calling, Child!
                  And I reply’d, My Lord.

Love (III)

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
        Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
        From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
        If I lacked anything.

“A guest," I answered, “worthy to be here”:
        Love said, “You shall be he.”
“I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
        I cannot look on thee.”
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
        “Who made the eyes but I?”

“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 disperséd lie, 
   Contract into a span.”

   So strength first made a way; 
Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, 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.”