LAWES, William

Love I Obey

Love, I obey ; shoot home thy dart.

'Tis for a bleeding, wounded heart

Whom oft I've heard to murmur tones

For me would move the ruthless stones.

Fly! Fly! Why stays my tardy sense

To quench that flaming influence,

Which else to cinders straight will burn

All virtue in one sacred urn?

Virgin more soft than vestal fire

That shoots into us chaste desire,

Can'st thou forgive a savage beast

That sacrifices now his breast?

Why dost thou only look and sigh

As if it breathed forth had thy life,

Oh, tyrant Love? For see the red

Is turned to paleness; beauty's dead.

May I forsaken be of all

Unpitied find no funeral;

My ashes through the world be blown,

For love is dead, and beauty's gone.