Page:Madagascar, with other poems - Davenant (1638).djvu/98

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76

To I. W.
Vpon the death of his
Mistresse.

As the great Sonnes of War, that are rays'd highWith eager heats, of frequent Victorie,Grow to such lazy pride; they take it illMen still should put them to the paines to kill;And would, at each sterne becken of the Eye,Have the sad Foe, vaile Plumes, take leave, and dye:So thou; as if thy Sorrowes had o'recomeHalfe the wise world, and struck all reason dumbe;Cry'st, she is dead! and frown'st, because I nowTake not my Wreath (the treasure of my Brow)Then hurle my selfe, and it, a SacrificeIn hallow'd flames, to her departed Eyes.

⟨Cause⟩

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