Lxii

When first I ended, then I first began; Then more I travelled further from my rest. Where most I lost, there most of all I won; Pinèd with hunger, rising from a feast. Methinks I fly, yet want I legs to go, Wise in conceit, in act a very sot, Ravished with joy amidst a hell of woe, What most I seem that surest am I not. I build my hopes a world above the sky, Yet with the mole I creep into the earth; In plenty I am starved with penury, And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth. I have, I want, despair, and yet desire, Burned in a sea of ice, and drowned amidst a fire.