HOW I grieve that I am well! All my health was in my sickness; Go then, Destiny, and tell Very death is in this quickness. Such a fate rules over me, That I glory when I languish, And do bless the remedy That doth feed, not quench my anguish. 'Twas a gentle warmth that ceas'd In the vizard of a fever; But I fear, now I am eas'd, All the flames, since I must leave her. Joys, though wither'd, circled me, When unto her voice inured, Like those who by harmony Only can be throughly cured. Sweet, sure, was that malady, Whilst the pleasant angel hover'd, Which ceasing, they are all, as I, Angry that they are recover'd. And as men in hospitals, That are maim'd, are lodg'd and dined; But when once their danger falls, Ah, th' are healed to be pined! Fainting so, I might before Sometime have the leave to hand her, But lusty, am beat out of door, And for love compell'd to wander. |