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Poem by Edward Dyer I Would and I Would Not I woulde it were not as it is Or that I cared not yea or no; I woulde I thoughte it not amiss, Or that amiss mighte blamles goo; I woulde I were, yet woulde I not, I mighte be gladd yet coulde I not. I coulde desire to know the meane Or that the meane desyre soughte; I woulde I coulde my fancye weane From suche sweet joyes as Love hathe wroughte; Onlye my wishe is leaste of all A badge whereby to know a thrall. O happy man whiche doste aspire To that whiche semeleye thou dost crave! Thrise happy man, if thy desyre Maye winn with hope good happ to have; But woe to me unhappy man Whom hope nor happ acquiet cann. The budds of hope are starvde with feare And still his foe presents his face; My state, if hope the palme shoulde beare Unto my happ woulde be disgrace. As diamond in woode were set Or Irus raggs in goulde I frett. For loe my tyrèd shoulders beare Desyre's weery beatinge winges; And at my feet a clogg I weare Tyde one wth selfe disdayning stringes. My wings to mounte aloft make hast. My clog doth sinke me downe as faste. This is our state, loe thus we stande They ryse to fall that climbe to hye; The boye that fled kynge Minos lande Maye learne the wise more love to flye. What gaynde his poynte agaynste the sonne He drownde in seas himself, that wonne. Yet Icarus more happy was, By present deathe his cares to ende Than I, pore mann, on whom alas Tenn thousande deathes theire paynes do sende. Now greife, now hope, now loue, now spyghte Longe sorrows mixte withe shorte delyghte. The pheere and fellowe of thy smarte Prometheus I am indeede; Upon whose ever livinge harte The greedy gryphes do daylye feede; But he that lyfts his harte so hye Muste be contente to pine and dye. Finis. Edward Dyer Edward Dyer's other poems: 1346 Views |
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