Can beauty that did prompt me first to write, Now threaten, with those means she did invite? Did her perfections call me on to gaze, Then like, then love; and now would they amaze? Or was she gracious afar off, but near A terror? Or is all this but my fear? That as the water makes things, put in't, straight, Crooked appear; so that doth my conceit: I can help that with boldness; and love sware, And fortune once, to assist the spirits that dare. But which shall lead me on? Both these are blind: Such guides men use not, who their way would find, Except the way be error to those ends: And then the best are, still, the blindest friends! O how a lover may mistake! To think, Or love, or fortune blind, when they but wink To see men fear: or else for truth, and state, Because they would free justice imitate, Veil their own eyes, and would impartially Be brought by us to meet our destiny. If it be thus; come love, and fortune go, I'll lead you on; or if my fate will so, That I must send one first, my choice assigns, Love to my heart, and fortune to my lines. |