Both at full noon and perfect night!
The stars have not a possibility
Of blessing thee;
If things then from their end we happy call
'Tis Hope is the most hopeless thing of all.
Hope, thou bold tester of delight,
Who, whilst thou shouldst but taste, devour'st it quite!
Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor
By clogging it with legacies before!
The joys, which we entire should wed,
Come deflowr'd virgins to our bed;
Good fortunes without gain imported be,
Such mighty custom's paid to thee:
For joy, like wine kept close, does better taste
If it take air before its spirits waste.


To the following comparison of a man that travels, and his wife that
stays at home, with a pair of compasses, it may be doubted whether
absurdity or ingenuity has the better claim:


Our two souls, therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth if th' other do.