Elegy III. Sweet thraldom, by Love’s sweet impression wrought

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

SWEET thraldom, by LOVE’s sweet impression wrought.

LOVE! in that bondage ever let me live!

For LOVE hath brought me bondslave, with a thought!

And to my thoughts, LOVE did me bondman give!

Ah me, my thoughts’ poor prisoner, shall I rest?

And shall my thoughts make triumph over me?

First, to fierce famished lions stand addrest!

Or let huge rocks and mountains cover thee!

Behold one, to his fancies made a prey!

A poor ACTÆON, with his hounds devoured!

An oak, with his green ivy worn away!

A wretch consumed with plenties great down poured!

A garment with his moth despoiled, and rotten!

A thorn, with his bred caterpillar cankered!

A buried CÆSAR, with his fame forgotten!

A friend betrayed by those on whom he anchored!

Behold a fire consumed with his own heat!

An iron worn away with his own rust!

But were mine heart of oak, this rage would eat,

Still fresh as ivy, mine hard oak to dust!

And were my pleasures durable as steel,

Despair would force they should Time’s canker feel!