Now fie upon that everlasting life! I die!
She hates! Ah me! It makes me mad;
As if love fired his torch at a moist eye,
Or with his joys e’er crowned the sad.
Oh, let me live and shout, when I fall on;
Let me e’en triumph in the first attempt!
Love’s duellist from conquest’s not exempt,
When his fair murderess shall not gain one groan,
And he expire e’en in ovation.
Let me make my approach, when I lie down
With counter-wrought and traversed eyes;
With peals of confidence batter the town;
Had ever beggar yet the keys?
No, I will vary storms with sun and wind;
Be rough, and offer calm condition;
March in and plead, or starve the garrison.
Let her make sallies hourly: yet I’ll find
(Though all beat off) she’s to be undermined.
Then may it please your little excellence
Of hearts to ordain, by sound of lips,
That henceforth none in tears dare love commence
(Her thoughts i’th’ full, his, in th’ eclipse);
On pain of having’s lance broke on her bed,
That he be branded all free beauties’ slave,
And his own hollow eyes be doomed his grave:
Since in your host that coward ne’er was fed,
Who to his prostrate e’er was prostrated.