XXXIV
Fie pleasure, fie! Thou cloy'st me with delight;
Sweet thoughts, you kill me if you lower stray!
O many be the joys of one short night!
Tush, fancies never can desire allay!
Happy, unhappy thoughts! I think, and have not.
Pleasure, O pleasing pain! Shows nought avail me!
Mine own conceit doth glad me, more I crave not;
Yet wanting substance, woe doth still assail me.
Babies do children please, and shadows fools;
Shows have deceived the wisest many a time.
Ever to want our wish, our courage cools.
The ladder broken, 'tis in vain to climb.
But I must wish, and crave, and seek, and climb;
It's hard if I obtain not grace in time.
