. Emblemi, divini e morali. Usi UNA lacrima felice, stretta harbring nel suo occhio.Then solleciti la sua fede lambited, i voti sacri, che né posso rompere, Né nega;bewail il tormento del suo coniuge leale, che per il suo bene avrebbe fatto uno sport a morire:o vergini benedetti, come la mia passione tiresBeneath il peso dei suoi desideri affettuosi!Heavn non ha mai sparato tali fiamme, terra mai felttali fuochi! 264 EMBLEMI. LIBRO 5. S. agosto. Med. Cap. xl.cosa devo dire? Cosa devo fare? Da dove va? Dove devo cercarlo? O quando lo findhim? Chi devo chiedere? Chi dirò al mio credente che sono malato di amore? GuLiel.
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. Emblems, divine and moral . use A happy tear, close harbring in his eye.Then urge his plighted faith, the sacred vows, Which neither I can break, nor he deny;Bewail the torment of his loyal spouse, That for his sake would make a sport to die:O blessed virgins, how my passion tiresBeneath the burden of her fond desires!Heavn never shot such flames, earth never feltsuch fires! 264 EMBLEMS. BOOK 5. S. August. Med. Cap. xl.What shall I say? what shall I do? whither shallI go? where shall I seek him? or when shall I findhim? whom shall I ask? who will tell my belovedthat I am sick of love? GuLiEL. in Cap. v. Cant.I live, but not I: it is my beloved that livethin me: I love, myself, not with my om love, butwith the love of my beloved that loveth me: Ilove not myself in myself, but myself in him, andhim in me. Epic. 1.Grieve not, my soul, nor let thy love wax faint:Weepst thou to lose the cause of thy complaint?Hell come; love neer was bound to times nor laws:Till then thy tears complain without a cause. KOOK 5. i65 2.. CANTICLES II. 5. &lafj me tvith flowers, and comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love, O TYRANT love! how doth thy sovreign powrSubject poor souls to thy imperious thrall! They say, thy cups composd of sweet and sour;They say, thy diets honey mixd with gallj How comes it then to pass, these lips of oursStill trade in bitter; taste no sweet at all? ti66 EMBLEMS. BOOK 5. O tyrant love! shall our perpetual toilNeer find a sabbath to refresh awhileOur drooping souls? art thou all frowns, and neera smile? Ye blessed maids of honour, that frequent The royal courts of our renownd Jehove, With flowers restore my spirits faint and spent; O fetch me apples from loves fruitful grove, To cool my palate, and renew my scent.For I am sick, for I am sick of love:These will revive my dry, my wasted powers, And they will sweeten my unsavry hours;Refresh me then with fruit, and comfort me withflowers. O bring mc apples to assuage that fire. Which, ^tna-like, inflames my fl
