Ix

If this be love, to draw a weary breath, To paint on floods till the shore cry to th'air; With downward looks still reading on the earth. These sad memorials of my love's despair; If this be love, to war against my soul, Lie down to wail, rise up to sigh and grieve, The never-resting stone of care to roll, Still to complain my griefs, whilst none relieve; If this be love, to clothe me with dark thoughts, Haunting untrodden paths to wail apart, My pleasures horror, music tragic notes, Tears in mine eyes and sorrow at my heart; If this be love, to live a living death, Then do I love, and draw this weary breath.