Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And guilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly doctor-like controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill: Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO CYNTHIA by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE WELFORD WEDDING by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST THE GOLDEN AGE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN BOUTS RIMES IN PRAISE OF OLD MAIDS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TO CHILDREN: 5. DAME HOLIDAY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO A CHILD, THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |