The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations/The Collar
§ The Collar.
I struck the board, and cry'd, No more;I will abroad.What? shall I ever sigh and pine?My lines and life are free; free as the rode,Loose as the winde, as large as store.Shall I be still in suit?Have I no harvest but a thornTo let me bloud, and not restoreWhat I have lost with cordiall fruit?Sure there was wineBefore my sighs did drie it: there was cornBefore my tears did drown it.Is the yeare onely lost to me?Have I no bayes to crown it?No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?All wasted?Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,And thou hast hands.Recover all thy sigh-blown ageOn double pleasures: leave thy cold disputeOf what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage,Thy rope of sands,Which pettie thoughts have made, and made to theeGood cable, to enforce and draw,And be thy law,While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.Away; take heed,I will abroad.Call in thy deaths head there: tie up thy fears.He that forbearsTo suit and serve his need,Deserves his load.But as I rav'd and grew more fierce and wildeAt every word,Me thoughts I heard one calling, Childe:And I reply'd, My Lord.