Classic Poem

severity in love, better than prosperity in anger July 3 73

How often dost thou strik our fingers off
From thosse delights, on which we set much love
Somtimes thou takst them quite away from us
And dost att once our I'dols, kill, and crush
Somtimes, thou dost to us imbitter it
And that way makst us, losser from it sitt
By that time we ar wean'd from them a while
Soon after, somthing else, doth us, beguile
And slyly steall away, from thee our hart
And of our love, itt takes away thy part
So that thy love, is forced to begin
Again, with us, and put a smartter sting
Into the thing, wee dote upon that we
May off from it, be drawn again to thee
Thus wee doe cut out, sad work for our selfs
Whilst we like weak, and silly, foolish elves
Do still against, thy love, & wisedome strive
As if we better knew, how to contrive
Whilst we might live, both free, from toyle & care
By leaving all, att gods dispose, we are
And doe our selfs, disquiet, & molest
For that which is but vanity, att best
I rather chouse, in love, to be deni'd
And stript of all. then to be soe fast ty'd
To any thing, that itt should hinder me
In the outgoings of my soull to thee
Tis better thou out of our hands shouldst strick
What e're is deer, then keep't with thy dislike
I'de rather upon bread, & watter live
Then thou in anger, shouldst unto me give
Any enjoyment, that may separate
My soull from thee, in this my present state
Or in the least, should clog, or hinder me
In my swift motion, to eternity.