. Emblems divine and moral . rbring in his eye,Then urge his plighted faith, the sacred vows, Which neither I can break, nor he deny ;Bewail the torment of his loyal spouse, That for his sake would make a sport to die : O blessed virgins, how my passion tiresBeneath the burden of her fond desires !Heavn never shot such flames, earth never feltsuch fires! 2C0 EMBLEMS. BOOK 5. S. August. Med. Cap. xl. What shall I say ? what shall I do ? whithershall I go ? where shall I seek him ? or when shallI find him ? whom shall I ask ? who will tell mybeloved that I am sick of love ? GuLiEL. ill Cap. V. C
. Emblems divine and moral . rbring in his eye,Then urge his plighted faith, the sacred vows, Which neither I can break, nor he deny ;Bewail the torment of his loyal spouse, That for his sake would make a sport to die : O blessed virgins, how my passion tiresBeneath the burden of her fond desires !Heavn never shot such flames, earth never feltsuch fires! 2C0 EMBLEMS. BOOK 5. S. August. Med. Cap. xl. What shall I say ? what shall I do ? whithershall I go ? where shall I seek him ? or when shallI find him ? whom shall I ask ? who will tell mybeloved that I am sick of love ? GuLiEL. ill Cap. V. Cant. I live, but not I : it is my beloved that livethin me : I love, myself, not with my own love, butwith the love of ray beloved that loveth me: Ilove not myself in myself, but myself in him, andhim in me. Epig. 1. Grieve not, my soul, nor let thy love wax faint:Weepst thou to lose the cause of thy complaint ?Hell come; love neer was bound to times nor laws:Till then thy tears complain wilhout a cause. BOJK O. KMBLEMS. 261. CANTICLES II. 5. Stay me with flowers, and comfort me with apples,for I am sick of love. O TYRANT love! how doth thy sovreign powrSubject poor souls to thy imperious thrall! They say, thy cups composd of sweet and sour;They say thy diets honey mLxd with gaU; How comes it then to pass, these lips of oursStill trade in bitter; taste no sweet at aU} 262 EMBLEMS. BOOK 5. O tyrant love! shall our perpetual toilNeer find a sabbath to refresh awhileOur drooping souls ? art thou all frowns, and neera smile ? Ye blessed maids of honour, that frequent The royal courts of our renownd Jehove,With flowers restore my spirits faint and spent;O fetch me apples from loves fruitful grove;To cool my palate, and renew my scent,For I am sick, for I am sick of love:These will revive my dry, my wasted they will sweeten my unsavry hours;Refresh me then with fruit, and comfort me withflowers. O bring me apples to assuage that fire. Which, ^tna-like, inflames my flaming
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