| WHEN first thou didst entice to thee my heart, | |
| I thought the service brave: | |
| So many joyes I writ down for my part, | |
| Besides what I might have | |
| Out of my stock of naturall delights, | 5 |
| Augmented with thy gracious benefits. | |
| |
| I looked on thy furniture so fine, | |
| And made it fine to me: | |
| Thy glorious houshold-stuffe did me entwine, | |
| And 'tice me unto thee; | 10 |
| Such starres I counted mine: both heav'n and earth | |
| Payd me my wages in a world of mirth. | |
| |
| What pleasures could I want, whose King I served? | |
| Where joyes my fellows were. | |
| Thus argu'd into hopes, my thoughts reserved | 15 |
| No place for grief or fear. | |
| Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place, | |
| And made her youth and fiercenesse seek thy face | |
| |
| At first thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses; | |
| I had my wish and way: | 20 |
| My dayes were straw'd with flow'rs and happinesse; | |
| There was no moneth but May. | |
| But with my yeares sorrow did twist and grow, | |
| And made a partie unawares for wo. | |
| |
| My flesh began unto my soul in pain, | 25 |
| Sicknesses cleave my bones; | |
| Consuming agues dwell in ev'ry vein, | |
| And tune my breath to grones. | |
| Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce beleeved, | |
| Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived. | 30 |
| |
| When I got health, thou took'st away my life, | |
| And more; for my friends die: | |
| My mirth and edge was lost; a blunted knife | |
| Was of more use then I. | |
| Thus thinne and lean without a fence or friend, | 35 |
| I was blown through with ev'ry storm and winde. | |
| |
| Whereas my birth and spirit rather took | |
| The way that takes the town; | |
| Thou didst betray me to a lingring book, | |
| And wrap me in a gown. | 40 |
| I was entangled in the world of strife, | |
| Before I had the power to change my life. | |
| |
| Yet, for I threatned oft the siege to raise, | |
| Not simpring all mine age, | |
| Thou often didst with Academick praise | 45 |
| Melt and dissolve my rage. | |
| I took thy sweetned pill, till I came neare; | |
| I could not go away, nor persevere. | |
| |
| Yet lest perchance I should too happie be | |
| In my unhappinesse, | 50 |
| Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me | |
| Into more sicknesses. | |
| Thus doth thy power crosse-bias me, not making | |
| Thine own gift good, yet me from my wayes taking. | |
| |
| Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me | 55 |
| None of my books will show: | |
| I reade, and sigh, and wish I were a tree; | |
| For sure then I should grow | |
| To fruit or shade: at least some bird would trust | |
| Her houshold to me, and I should be just. | 60 |
| |
| Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek; | |
| In weaknesse must be stout. | |
| Well, I will change the service, and go seek | |
| Some other master out. | |
| Ah my deare God! though I am clean forgot, | 65 |
| Let me not love thee, if I love thee not. | |
| |
