Page:Madagascar, with other poems - Davenant (1638).djvu/110

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In this black day, like Men from Thunders rage,Or drowning showres, I hasten from the stage;And wish my selfe, some Spirit, hid withinThose distant, wandring Winds, that yet have binUnknowne to'th Compasse, or the Pilots skill;Or some loose Plumet, sunke so low, untillI touch where roots of Rocks deepe bury'd be;There mourne, beneath the leafelesse Corall Tree.But I am growne too tame! what need I feare,Whilst not to passion, but thy reason cleere?Should I perceive, thy knowledge were subdu'd,T'unkinde consent with the harsh Multitude,Then I had cause to weep; and at thy Gate(Deny'd to enter) stand disconsolate;Amaz'd, and lost to mine owne Eyes; there I(Scarce griev'd-for by my selfe) would winke and dye:Olivia then, may on thy pitty callTo bury me, and give mee funerall.

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