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pleasure, fie! Thou cloy'st me with delight;

Sweet thoughts, you kill me if you lower stray!

O many be the joys of one short night!

Tush, fancies never can desire allay!

Happy, unhappy thoughts! I think, and have not.

Pleasure, O pleasing pain! Shows nought avail me!

Mine own conceit doth glad me, more I crave not;

Yet wanting substance, woe doth still assail me.

Babies do children please, and shadows fools;

Shows have deceived the wisest many a time.

Ever to want our wish, our courage cools.

The ladder broken, 'tis in vain to climb.

But I must wish, and crave, and seek, and climb;

It's hard if I obtain not grace in time.