25
THE VAIN LOVE.
Should be contented with his woe,
Which makes up such a comely show.
I sought not from thee a return,
But without hopes or fears did burn;
My covetous passion did approve
The hoarding-up, not use, of love.
My love a kind of dream was grown,
A foolish, but a pleasant one:
From which I'm waken'd now; but, oh!
Prisoners to die are waken'd so;
For now th' effects of loving are
Nothing but longings, with despair:
Despair, whose torments no men, sure,
But lovers and the damn'd, endure.
Her scorn I doted once upon,
Ill object for affection;
But since, alas! too much ’tis prov'd,
That yet 't was something that I lov'd;
Now my desires are worse, and fly,
At an impossibility:
Desires which, whilst so high they soar,
Are proud as that I lov'd before.
What lover can like me complain,
Who first lov'd vainly, next in vain!
Which makes up such a comely show.
I sought not from thee a return,
But without hopes or fears did burn;
My covetous passion did approve
The hoarding-up, not use, of love.
My love a kind of dream was grown,
A foolish, but a pleasant one:
From which I'm waken'd now; but, oh!
Prisoners to die are waken'd so;
For now th' effects of loving are
Nothing but longings, with despair:
Despair, whose torments no men, sure,
But lovers and the damn'd, endure.
Her scorn I doted once upon,
Ill object for affection;
But since, alas! too much ’tis prov'd,
That yet 't was something that I lov'd;
Now my desires are worse, and fly,
At an impossibility:
Desires which, whilst so high they soar,
Are proud as that I lov'd before.
What lover can like me complain,
Who first lov'd vainly, next in vain!
