For I Am Proverbed With A Grandsire

Every Man Has Business And Desire, Such As It Is.

There Is Some Soul Of Goodness In Things Evil, Would Men Observingly Distill It Out.

And Yet, By Heaven, I Think My Love As Rare As Any She Belied With False Compare.

Make Me A Willow Cabin At Your Gate, And Call Upon My Soul Within The House; Write Loyal Cantons Of Contemned Love And Sing Them Loud Even In The Dead Of Night.

Who Alone Suffers Suffers Most I' Th' Mind, Leaving Free Things And Happy Shows Behind; But Then The Mind Much Sufferance Doth O'erskip When Grief Hath Mates, And Bearing Fellowship.