O Love, where are thy Shafts, thy Quiver, and thy Bow?
O Love, where are thy Shafts, thy Quiver, and thy Bow?
Shall my wounds onely weepe, and hee ungaged goe?
Be just, and strike him, to, that dares contemne thee so.
No eyes are like to thine, though men suppose thee blinde,
So fayre they levell when the marke they list to finde:
Then strike, o strike the heart that beares the cruell minde.
Is my fond sight deceived? or doe I Cupid spye
Close ayming at his breast, by whom despis'd I dye?
Shoot home, sweet Love , and wound him, that hee may not flye!
O then we both will sit in some unhaunted shade,
And heale each others wound which Love hath justly made:
O hope, o thought too vaine, how quickly dost thou fade!
At large he wanders still, his heart is free from paine,
While secret sighes I spend, and teares, but all in vaine:
Yet, Love , thou know'st, by right I should not thus complaine.
Shall my wounds onely weepe, and hee ungaged goe?
Be just, and strike him, to, that dares contemne thee so.
No eyes are like to thine, though men suppose thee blinde,
So fayre they levell when the marke they list to finde:
Then strike, o strike the heart that beares the cruell minde.
Is my fond sight deceived? or doe I Cupid spye
Close ayming at his breast, by whom despis'd I dye?
Shoot home, sweet Love , and wound him, that hee may not flye!
O then we both will sit in some unhaunted shade,
And heale each others wound which Love hath justly made:
O hope, o thought too vaine, how quickly dost thou fade!
At large he wanders still, his heart is free from paine,
While secret sighes I spend, and teares, but all in vaine:
Yet, Love , thou know'st, by right I should not thus complaine.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.