If silence be a kind of death, He kindles grief who gives it breath; 20 But let it rak'd in embers lie, On thine own hearth 'twill quickly die: And spite of fate, that very womb Which carries it, shall prove its tomb. _Love's Harvest._ Fond Lunatic forbear, why dost thou sue For thy affection's pay ere it is due? Love's fruits are legal use; and therefore may Be only taken on the marriage day. Who for this interest too early call, By that exaction lose the principal. Then gather not those immature delights, Until their riper autumn thee invites. He that abortive corn cuts off his ground, No husband but a ravisher is found: 10 So those that reap their love before they wed, Do in effect but cuckold their own bed. [_Love's Harvest._] [Lines: 11, 12, Malone MS. 22 has the singular: 'So he', &c.] _The Forlorn Hope._ How long, vain Hope, dost thou my joys suspend? Say! must my expectation know no end? Thou wast more kind unto the wand'ring Greek Who did ten years his wife and country seek: Ten lazy winters in my glass are run, Yet my thought's travail seems but new begun. Smooth quicksand which the easy world beguiles, Thou shall not bury me in thy false smiles. They that in hunting shadows pleasure take, May benefit of thy illusion make. 10 Since thou hast banish'd me from my content I here pronounce thy final banishment. Farewell, thou dream of nothing! thou mere voice! Get thee to fools that can feed fat with noise: Bid wretches mark'd for death look for reprieve, Or men broke on the wheel persuade to live. Henceforth my comfort and best hope shall be, By scorning Hope, ne'er to rely on thee. [_The Forlorn Hope._] [Line: 10 _MS._ 'illusions'--perhaps better.] [Line: 14 can] _MS._ 'will'.] _The Retreat._ Pursue no more (my thoughts!) that false unkind, You may as soon imprison the North-wind; Or catch the lightning as it leaps; or reach The leading billow first ran down the breach; Or undertake the flying clouds to track In the same path they yesterday did rack. Then, like a torch turn'd downward, let the same Desire which nourish'd it, put out your flame. Lo! thus I do divorce thee from my breast, False to thy vow, and traitor to my rest! 10 Henceforth thy tears shall be (though thou repent) Like pardons after execution sent. Nor shalt thou ever my love's story read, But as some epitaph of what is dead. So may my hope on future blessings dwell, As 'tis my firm resolve and last farewell. [_The Retreat._] [Line: 4 'first' of course = 'that first'. One naturally asks 'beach'? but perhaps unreasonably.] [Line: 6 'rack' as a verb in this sense is interesting, and certainly not common.] _Sonnet._