XXIII

    Fly to her heart, hover about her heart,
    With dainty kisses mollify her heart,
    Pierce with thy arrows her obdurate heart,
    With sweet allurements ever move her heart,
    At midday and at midnight touch her heart,
    Be lurking closely, nestle about her heart,
    With power—­thou art a god!—­command her heart,
    Kindle thy coals of love about her heart,
    Yea, even into thyself transform her heart! 
    Ah, she must love!  Be sure thou have her heart;
    And I must die if thou have not her heart;
    Thy bed if thou rest well, must be her heart;
    He hath the best part sure that hath her heart;
    What have I not, if I have but her heart!

    XXIV

    Striving is past!  Ah, I must sink and drown,
      And that in sight of long descried shore! 
      I cannot send for aid unto the town,
      All help is vain and I must die therefore. 
    Then poor distressed caitiff, be resolved
      To leave this earthly dwelling fraught with care;
      Cease will thy woes, thy corpse in earth involved,
      Thou diest for her that will no help prepare. 
    O see, my case herself doth now behold;
      The casement open is; she seems to speak;—­
      But she has gone!  O then I dare be bold
      And needs must say she caused my heart to break. 
    I die before I drown, O heavy case! 
    It was because I saw my mistress’ face.

    XXV

    Compare me to Pygmalion with his image sotted,
      For, as was he, even so am I deceived. 
      The shadow only is to me allotted,
      The substance hath of substance me bereaved. 
    Then poor and helpless must I wander still
      In deep laments to pass succeeding days,
      Welt’ring in woes that poor and mighty kill. 
      O who is mighty that so soon decays! 
    The dread Almighty hath appointed so
      The final period of all worldly things. 
      Then as in time they come, so must they go;
      Death common is to beggars and to kings
    For whither do I run beside my text? 
    I run to death, for death must be the next.

    XXVI

    The silly bird that hastes unto the net,
      And flutters to and fro till she be taken,
      Doth look some food or succour there to get,
      But loseth life, so much is she mistaken. 
    The foolish fly that fleeth to the flame
      With ceaseless hovering and with restless flight,
      Is burned straight to ashes in the same,
      And finds her death where was her most delight
    The proud aspiring boy that needs would pry
      Into the secrets of the highest seat,
      Had some conceit to gain content thereby,
      Or else his folly sure was wondrous great. 
    These did through folly perish all and die: 
    And though I know it, even so do I.