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 XLVI.

I curst thee oft, I pity now thy case, Blind-hitting boy! since she, that thee and me Rules with a beck, so tyrannizeth thee, That thou must want or food or dwelling place. For she protests to "banish thee her face." Her face! O LOVE, a rogue thou then shouldst be! "If LOVE learn not alone to love and see, Without desire to feed of further grace." Alas, poor wag! that now a scholar art To such a schoolmistress, whose lessons new Thou needs must miss; and so, thou needs must smart! Yet Dear! let me his pardon get of you, So long (though he from book myche to desire) Till without fuel, you can make hot fire.

XLVII.

What! Have I thus betrayed my liberty? Can those black beams, such burning marks engrave In my free side? or am I born a slave, Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny? Or want I sense to feel my misery? Or sprite, disdain of such disdain to have? Who for long faith, though daily help I crave, May get no alms, but scorn of beggary. VIRTUE, awake! BEAUTY, but beauty is. I may, I must, I can, I will, I do Leave following that which it is gain to miss. Let her do! Soft! but here she comes. Go to! "Unkind! I love you not." O me! that eye Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie.