|Within be fed, without be rich no more,
So shalt thou feed on death,that feeds on men,
And death once dead,ther's no more dying then.
|Feeding on that which doth preserue the ill,
Th'vncertaine sicklie appetite to please:
My reason the Phisition to my loue,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept
Hath left me,and I desperate now approoue,
Desire is death,which Phisick did except.
Past cure I am,now Reason is past care,
And frantick madde with euer-more vnrest,
My thoughts and my discourse as mad mens are,
At randon from the truth vainely exprest.
For I haue sworne thee faire,and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell,as darke as night.
|Or if they haue,where is my iudgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be faire whereon my false eyes dote,
What meanes the world to say it is not so?
If it be not,then loue doth well denote,
Loues eye is not so true as all mens:no,
How can it ? O how can loues eye be true,
That is so vext with watching and with teares?
No maruaile then though I mistake my view,
The sunne it selfe sees not,till heauen cleeres.
O cunning loue,with teares thou keepst me blinde,
Least eyes well seeing thy foule faults should finde.