The Collar

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, Methought I heard one calling, ‘Child’; And I replied, ‘My Lord.’