Oh! loathe that love whose final aim is lust, Moth of the mind, eclipse of reason’s light; The grave of grace, the mole of Nature’s rust, The wrack of wit, the wrong of every right; 40 In sum, an ill whose harms no tongue can tell; In which to live is death, to die is hell. _Robert Southwell._ XLV _TO THE WORLD. A FAREWELL FOR A GENTLEWOMAN, VIRTUOUS AND NOBLE._ False world, good night, since thou hast brought That hour upon my morn of age, Henceforth I quit thee from my thought, My part is ended on thy stage. Do not once hope, that thou canst tempt 5 A spirit so resolved to tread Upon thy throat, and live exempt From all the nets that thou canst spread. I know thy forms are studied arts, Thy subtil ways be narrow straits; 10 Thy courtesy but sudden starts, And what thou call’st thy gifts, are baits. I know too, though thou strut and paint, Yet art thou both shrunk up and old; That only fools make thee a saint, 15 And all thy good is to be sold. I know thou whole art but a shop Of toys and trifles, traps and snares, To take the weak, or make them stop: Yet art thou falser than thy wares. 20 And, knowing this, should I yet stay, Like such as blow away their lives, And never will redeem a day, Enamoured of their golden gyves? Or having ’scaped, shall I return, 25 And thrust my neck into the noose, From whence so lately I did burn With all my powers myself to loose? What bird or beast is known so dull, That fled his cage, or broke his chain, 30 And tasting air and freedom, wull Render his head in there again? If these who have but sense, can shun The engines that have them annoyed; Little for me had reason done, 35 If I could not thy gins avoid. Yes, threaten, do. Alas, I fear As little, as I hope from thee: I know thou canst nor show, nor bear More hatred than thou hast to me. 40 My tender, first, and simple years Thou didst abuse, and then betray; Since stirr’dst up jealousies and fears, When all the causes were away. Then in a soil hast planted me, 45 Where breathe the basest of thy fools; Where envious arts professèd be, And pride and ignorance the schools: Where nothing is examined, weighed; But as ’tis rumoured, so believed; 50 Where every freedom is betrayed, And every goodness taxed or grieved.