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830. HIS LOSS.
All has been plundered from me but my wit:
Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.
Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.
831. DRAW AND DRINK.
Milk still your fountains and your springs: for why?
The more th'are drawn, the less they will grow dry.
The more th'are drawn, the less they will grow dry.
833. TO OENONE.
Thou say'st Love's dart
Hath pricked thy heart;
And thou dost languish too:
If one poor prick
Can make thee sick,
Say, what would many do?
Hath pricked thy heart;
And thou dost languish too:
If one poor prick
Can make thee sick,
Say, what would many do?
836. TO ELECTRA.
Shall I go to Love and tell,
Thou art all turned icicle?
Shall I say her altars be
Disadorn'd and scorn'd by thee?
O beware! in time submit;
Love has yet no wrathful fit:
If her patience turns to ire,
Love is then consuming fire.
Thou art all turned icicle?
Shall I say her altars be
Disadorn'd and scorn'd by thee?
O beware! in time submit;
Love has yet no wrathful fit:
If her patience turns to ire,
Love is then consuming fire.
