[In the Arcadia impression of 1598, the FIRST SONG at page 558 comes in here.]
LXIV.
No more! my Dear! no more these counsels try!
O give my passions leave to run their race!
Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace!
Let folk o'ercharged with brain, against me cry!
Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye!
Let me no steps but of lost labour trace!
Let all the earth in scorn recount my case;
But do not will me from my love to fly!
I do not envy ARISTOTLE'S wit;
Nor do aspire to CAESAR'S bleeding fame;
Nor ought do care, though some above me sit;
Nor hope, nor wish another course to frame:
But that which once may win thy cruel heart.
Thou art my Wit, and thou my Virtue art.
LXV.
LOVE! By sure proof I may call thee unkind;
That giv'st no better ear to my just cries!
Thou, whom to me, such my good turns should bind,
As I may well recount, but none can prize.
For when, naked boy! thou couldst no harbour find
In this old world, grown now so too too wise;
I lodged thee in my heart: and being blind
By nature born, I gave to thee mine eyes.
Mine eyes! my light! my heart! my life! Alas!
If so great services may scornèd be:
Yet let this thought, thy tigerish courage pass.
That I, perhaps, am somewhat kin to thee;
Since in thine arms, if learned Fame truth hath spread,
Thou bar'st the arrow; I, the arrow head.
