Page:Madagascar, with other poems - Davenant (1638).djvu/110

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88
In this black day, like Men from Thunders rage,
Or drowning showres, I hasten from the stage;
And wish my selfe, some Spirit, hid within
Those distant, wandring Winds, that yet have bin
Unknowne to'th Compasse, or the Pilots skill;
Or some loose Plumet, sunke so low, untill
I touch where roots of Rocks deepe bury'd be;
There mourne, beneath the leafelesse Corall Tree.
But I am growne too tame! what need I feare,
Whilst not to passion, but thy reason cleere?
Should I perceive, thy knowledge were subdu'd,
T'unkinde consent with the harsh Multitude,
Then I had cause to weep; and at thy Gate
(Deny'd to enter) stand disconsolate;
Amaz'd, and lost to mine owne Eyes; there I
(Scarce griev'd-for by my selfe) would winke and dye:
Olivia then, may on thy pitty call
To bury me, and give mee funerall.

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