IV.
Cruelty in Love.
Disdaine me still, that I may ever love;
For who enioys his love can love noe more;
The war once done, with ease men cowards prove,
And ships return'd doe rott upon the shore.
Then though thou frowne, He say thou art most faire,
And still He love, though still I must dispaire.
For who enioys his love can love noe more;
The war once done, with ease men cowards prove,
And ships return'd doe rott upon the shore.
Then though thou frowne, He say thou art most faire,
And still He love, though still I must dispaire.
As heat to life, soe is desire to love;
And these once quencht, both life and love are done:
Let not my sighes nor teares thy vertue move,
Like baser mettais, that doe melt to soone.
Laugh at my woes, and though I ever mourne;
Love surfets with reward, his nurse is scorne.
And these once quencht, both life and love are done:
Let not my sighes nor teares thy vertue move,
Like baser mettais, that doe melt to soone.
Laugh at my woes, and though I ever mourne;
Love surfets with reward, his nurse is scorne.