O loathsome place!
O loathsome place! where I
Have seen, and heard my dear;
When in my heart her eye
Hath made her thought appear,
By glimpsing with such grace,-
As fortune it ne would
That lasten any space,
Between us longer should.
As fortune did advance
To further my desire;
Even so hath fortune’s chance
Thrown all amidst the mire.
And that I have deserved,
With true and faithful heart,
Is to his hands reserved,
That never felt a smart.
But happy is that man
That scaped hath the grief,
That love well teach him can,
By wanting his relief.
A scourge to quiet minds
It is, who taketh heed;
A common plage that binds;
A travail without meed.
This gift it hath also:
Whoso enjoys it most,
A thousand troubles grow,
To vex his wearied ghost.
And last it may not long;
The truest thing of all:
And sure the greatest wrong,
That is within this thrall.
But since thou, desert place,
Canst give me no account
Of my desired grace,
That I to have was wont;
Farewell! thou hast me taught,
To think me not the first
That love hath set aloft,
And casten in the dust.
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