5O Love, I complain,Complain of thee often,Because thou dost softenMy being to pain:Thou makest me fearThe mind that createth,That loves not nor hatethIn justice austere;Who, ere he make one,With millions toyeth,And lightly destroyethWhatever is begun.An’ wer’t not for thee,My glorious passion,My heart I could fashionTo sternness, as he.But thee, Love, he madeLest man should defy him,Connive and outvie him,And not be afraid:Nay, thee, Love, he gaveHis terrors to cover,And turn to a loverHis insolent slave.
5O Love, I complain,Complain of thee often,Because thou dost softenMy being to pain:Thou makest me fearThe mind that createth,That loves not nor hatethIn justice austere;Who, ere he make one,With millions toyeth,And lightly destroyethWhatever is begun.An’ wer’t not for thee,My glorious passion,My heart I could fashionTo sternness, as he.But thee, Love, he madeLest man should defy him,Connive and outvie him,And not be afraid:Nay, thee, Love, he gaveHis terrors to cover,And turn to a loverHis insolent slave.
O Love, I complain,Complain of thee often,Because thou dost softenMy being to pain:Thou makest me fearThe mind that createth,That loves not nor hatethIn justice austere;Who, ere he make one,With millions toyeth,And lightly destroyethWhatever is begun.An’ wer’t not for thee,My glorious passion,My heart I could fashionTo sternness, as he.But thee, Love, he madeLest man should defy him,Connive and outvie him,And not be afraid:Nay, thee, Love, he gaveHis terrors to cover,And turn to a loverHis insolent slave.
O Love, I complain,Complain of thee often,Because thou dost softenMy being to pain:Thou makest me fearThe mind that createth,That loves not nor hatethIn justice austere;Who, ere he make one,With millions toyeth,And lightly destroyethWhatever is begun.An’ wer’t not for thee,My glorious passion,My heart I could fashionTo sternness, as he.But thee, Love, he madeLest man should defy him,Connive and outvie him,And not be afraid:Nay, thee, Love, he gaveHis terrors to cover,And turn to a loverHis insolent slave.
O Love, I complain,Complain of thee often,Because thou dost softenMy being to pain:
O Love, I complain,
Complain of thee often,
Because thou dost soften
My being to pain:
Thou makest me fearThe mind that createth,That loves not nor hatethIn justice austere;
Thou makest me fear
The mind that createth,
That loves not nor hateth
In justice austere;
Who, ere he make one,With millions toyeth,And lightly destroyethWhatever is begun.
Who, ere he make one,
With millions toyeth,
And lightly destroyeth
Whatever is begun.
An’ wer’t not for thee,My glorious passion,My heart I could fashionTo sternness, as he.
An’ wer’t not for thee,
My glorious passion,
My heart I could fashion
To sternness, as he.
But thee, Love, he madeLest man should defy him,Connive and outvie him,And not be afraid:
But thee, Love, he made
Lest man should defy him,
Connive and outvie him,
And not be afraid:
Nay, thee, Love, he gaveHis terrors to cover,And turn to a loverHis insolent slave.
Nay, thee, Love, he gave
His terrors to cover,
And turn to a lover
His insolent slave.