. Emblems divine and moral . sacred vows. Which neither I can break, nor He deny : Bewail the torments of his loyal spouse, That for his sake would make a sport to die: O blessed virgins, how my passion tires Beneath the burden of her fond desires ! Heavn never shot such flames, earth never felt suchfires I * Pind, consumed, wasted with grief. * Elegious, plaintive, or complaining, 72 EMBLEMS. BOOK. V. S. August. Med. Cap. xl. What shall I say ? what shall I do ? wither shallI go ? where shall I seek him ? or when shall I findhim \ whom shall I ask ? who will tell my belovedthat I am sick of l
. Emblems divine and moral . sacred vows. Which neither I can break, nor He deny : Bewail the torments of his loyal spouse, That for his sake would make a sport to die: O blessed virgins, how my passion tires Beneath the burden of her fond desires ! Heavn never shot such flames, earth never felt suchfires I * Pind, consumed, wasted with grief. * Elegious, plaintive, or complaining, 72 EMBLEMS. BOOK. V. S. August. Med. Cap. xl. What shall I say ? what shall I do ? wither shallI go ? where shall I seek him ? or when shall I findhim \ whom shall I ask ? who will tell my belovedthat I am sick of love ? GulieL in Cap. v. Cant. I live, but not I; it is my beloved that liveth inme: I love myself, not with my own love, but withthe love of my beloved, that loveth me; I love notmyself in myself, but myself in him, and him inme. Epig, 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 time nor laws;Till then thy tears complain without a (rut //If f/n //i<- Jriti,.v, t/w (/7////</7Ji/i /. BOOK v.—EMBLEM 11. Canticles ii. 5. Slay me withJlowers,^ comfort me with apples: forI am sick of love, O TYRANT Love ! how doth thy sovreign powr Subject poor souls to thy imperious thrall!They say thy cup s composd of sweet and sour ; They say thy diets honey, mixd with gall:How comes it then to pass these lips of ourfStill trade in bitter : taste no sweet at all ?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 flowrs restore my spirits faint and spent; 0 fetch me apples from Loves fruitful cool my palate, and renew my scent, For I am sick, for I am sick of love : These will revive my dry, and wasted powrs,And they will sweeten my unsavry hours ;Refresh me then with fruit, and comfort me withflowrs. *
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Keywords: ., bookauthorquarlesfrancis159, bookcentury1800, booksubjectemblems
