Thousand Sands The sea hath many thousand sands, It is in truth a pretty toy For babes to play withal; But O the honies of our youth Are oft our age's gall! Self-proof in time will make thee know He was a prophet told thee so: A prophet that, Cassandra-like, For headstrong youth will run his race, Love's martyr, when his heat is past, Love Winged my Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly Far from base earth, but not to mount too high: For true pleasure Lives in measure, Which if men forsake, Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take. But my vain hopes, proud of their newtaught flight, Enamoured sought to woo the sun's fair light, Whose rich brightness That all scorched and consumed with fire now drowned in woe they lie. And none but Love their woeful hap did rue, For Love did know that their desires were true; Though Fate frowned And now drowned They in sorrow dwell, It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell. Now have I Ado at Last Now have I learned with much ado at last By true disdain to kill desire; This was the mark at which I shot so fast, Unto this height I did aspire: Proud Love, now do thy worst and spare not, For thee and all thy shafts I care not. What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind? What life to quicken dead desire? I count thy words and oaths as light as wind, I feel no heat in all thy fire: Go, change thy bow and get a stronger, Go, break thy shafts and buy thee longer. In vain thou bait'st thy hook with beauty's blaze, In vain thy wanton eyes allure; (B 325) 49 E |