CIV.
Envious wits! what hath been mine offence,
That with such poisonous care my looks you mark?
That each word, nay sigh of mine you hark,
As grudging me my sorrows' eloquence?
Ah! is it not enough, that I am thence!
Thence! so far thence! that scarcely any spark
Of comfort dare come to this dungeon dark;
Where rigour's exile locks up all my sense?
But if I by a happy window pass;
If I but stars upon mine armour bear;
Sick, thirsty, glad (though but of empty glass!)
Your moral notes straight my hid meaning tear
From out my ribs; and puffing prove that I
Do STELLA love. Fools! who doth it deny?
[The ELEVENTH SONG at *p.578 comes in here in the 1598 edition.]
CV.
Unhappy sight! And hath she vanished by?
So near! in so good time! so free a place!
Dead glass! dost thou thy object so embrace,
As what my heart still sees thou canst not spy?
I swear by her I love and lack, that I
Was not in fault, who bent thy dazzling race
Only unto the heaven of STELLA'S face;
Counting but dust what in the way did lie.
But cease mine eyes! your tears do witness well
That you guiltless thereof, your nectar missed:
Curst be the page from whence the bad torch fell!
Curst be the night which did your strife resist!
Curst be the coachman that did drive so fast!
With no worse curse than absence makes me taste.
