XCVI.
Thought! with good cause thou likest so well the night!
Since kind or chance gives both one livery:
Both sadly black, both blackly darkened be;
Night barred from sun; thou, from thine own sunlight.
Silence in both displays his sullen might;
Slow heaviness in both holds one degree;
That full of doubts; thou, of perplexity:
Thy tears express night's native moisture right.
In both a mazeful solitariness.
In night, of sprites the ghastly powers do stir;
In thee, or sprites or sprited ghastliness:
But, but, alas, night's side the odds hath far:
For that, at length, yet doth invite some rest;
Thou, though still tired, yet still dost it detest!
XCVII.
<poem> Dian, that fain would cheer her friend the NIGHT, Shows her oft at the full her fairest face: Bringing with her those starry nymphs, whose chase From heavenly standing, hits each mortal wight.
But, ah, poor NIGHT! in love with PHOEBUS' light, And endlessly despairing of his grace; Herself (to show no other joy hath place) Silent and sad in mourning weeds doth dight.
Even so, alas, a lady, DIAN'S peer! With choice delights and rarest company, Would fain drive clouds from out my heavy cheer:
But woe is me! though JOY itself were she; She could not show my blind brain ways of joy; While I despair my sun's sight to enjoy.
- <poem>
