MY FATE.
79
These are but trifles, I confess,
Which me, weak mortal! move;
Nor is your busy-seriousness
Less trifling than my love:
The wisest king, who from his sacred breast
Pronounc'd all vanity, chose it for the best.
Which me, weak mortal! move;
Nor is your busy-seriousness
Less trifling than my love:
The wisest king, who from his sacred breast
Pronounc'd all vanity, chose it for the best.
MY FATE.
Go bid the needle his dear North forsake,
To which with trembling reverence it does bend;
Go bid the stones a journey upwards make;
Go bid th' ambitious flame no more ascend:
And, when these false to their own motions prove,
Then shall I cease thee, thee alone, to love.
To which with trembling reverence it does bend;
Go bid the stones a journey upwards make;
Go bid th' ambitious flame no more ascend:
And, when these false to their own motions prove,
Then shall I cease thee, thee alone, to love.
The fast-link'd chain of everlasting Fate
Does nothing tie more strong than me to you;
My fixt love hangs not on your love or hate,
But will be still the same, whate'er you do:
You cannot kill my love with your disdain;
Wound it you may, and make it live in pain.
Does nothing tie more strong than me to you;
My fixt love hangs not on your love or hate,
But will be still the same, whate'er you do:
You cannot kill my love with your disdain;
Wound it you may, and make it live in pain.
Me, mine example, let the Stoicks use,
Their sad and cruel doctrine to maintain;
Let all predestinators me produce,
Who struggle with eternal bonds in vain:
This fire I'm born to—but ’tis she must tell,
Whether 't be beams of heaven or flames of hell.
Their sad and cruel doctrine to maintain;
Let all predestinators me produce,
Who struggle with eternal bonds in vain:
This fire I'm born to—but ’tis she must tell,
Whether 't be beams of heaven or flames of hell.
