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I struck the
board, and cried "No more!
I will abroad.
What,
shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are
free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large
as store.
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no
harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was
wine
Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost
to me?
Have I no bays 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 age
On double pleasures:
leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit, and not.
Forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands,
Which petty
thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good 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 death's head there: tie up thy
fears.
He that forbears
To suit and serve his
need,
Deserves his load."
But as I raved and grew
more fierce and wild
At every word,
Methoughts I
heard one calling "Child!"
And I replied "My Lord".
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