Tixall Poetry.
323
A care t' inlarge her soule's capacity
In ail perfection, with that constancy
Wherewith she crown'd her other vertues,) lays
The greatest claim to grief; yet that she prays
More powerfully now then she could here,
My course to that blest port of bliss to steer.
This obligation quits and leaves me alone,
My sorrow having a just cause for none.
But yet, in spite of all my reasons, must
My heart and eyes pay tribute to her dust;
And often number by my sighs and teares
The pleasures I possest, ev'n from those yeares
Ere I soe much as what was pleasure knew,
Till they to all this world could yield me grew.
She had to see my love a knowing minde,
And to returne it had a heart as kind.
On some, perhaps, this and that sorrow lyes,
But never one that did all els comprise;
And such is mine, which do's encrease admit
Even from the feare I yield too much to it.
Nor hardly doe I my misfortune more
Lament, than that excess of grief deplore:
In ail perfection, with that constancy
Wherewith she crown'd her other vertues,) lays
The greatest claim to grief; yet that she prays
More powerfully now then she could here,
My course to that blest port of bliss to steer.
This obligation quits and leaves me alone,
My sorrow having a just cause for none.
But yet, in spite of all my reasons, must
My heart and eyes pay tribute to her dust;
And often number by my sighs and teares
The pleasures I possest, ev'n from those yeares
Ere I soe much as what was pleasure knew,
Till they to all this world could yield me grew.
She had to see my love a knowing minde,
And to returne it had a heart as kind.
On some, perhaps, this and that sorrow lyes,
But never one that did all els comprise;
And such is mine, which do's encrease admit
Even from the feare I yield too much to it.
Nor hardly doe I my misfortune more
Lament, than that excess of grief deplore:
