You are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.
Give me a torch, I am not for this amblingm
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe,
Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.
And, to sink in it, should you burden love,
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love,
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
Give me a case to put my visage in,
A visor for a visor! what care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
A torch for me: let wantons light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels,
For I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase,
I’ll be a candle-holder, and look on.
The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.
True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger’d, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
*pict taken from google
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