Page:Omniana 2.djvu/182

 :What wilfull wight doth thus his kindly rest
 * Forsake? said she approaching me unto.
 * What rage, what sorrow, boils thus in thy chest
 * That thou thus spend'st the night in wasting wo?
 * Oft help he gets that his hid ill doth Show.
 * Ay me! said I, my grief's not all mine own;
 * For all men's griefs into my heart do ﬂow,
 * Nor men's alone, but every mournfull grone

Of dying beast, or what so else that grief hath shown.


 * From fading plants my sorrows freshly spring;
 * And thou thyself that com'st to comfort me,
 * Would'st strong'st occasion of deep sorrow bring,
 * If thou wert subject to mortality:
 * But I no mortall wight thee deem to be,
 * Thy face, thy voice, immortall thee proclaim.
 * Do I not well to wail the vanity
 * Of fading life, and churlish fates to blame,

That with cold frozen death life's chearfull motions tame?


 * Thou dost not well, said she to me again,
 * Thou hurt'st thyself, and dost to them no good.
 * The sighs thou sendest out cannot regain
 * Life to the dead, thou can'st not change the mood
 * Of stedfast destiny. That man is wood
 * That weetingly hastes on the thing he hates:
 * Dull sorrow chokes the sprights, congeals the blood,
 * The bodie's fabrick quickly ruinates,

Yet foolish men do fondly blame the hasty fates.