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| Elegie. X. |
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| Image of her whom I love, more than she, |
| Whose fair impression in my faithful heart, |
| Makes me her Medal, and makes her love me, |
| As Kings do coins, to which their stamps impart |
| The value: go, and take my heart from hence, |
| Which now is grown too great and good for me: |
| Honours oppress weak spirits, and our sense |
| Strong objects dull; the more, the less we see. |
| When you are gone, and Reason gone with you, |
| Then Fantasie is Queen and Soul, and all; |
| She can present joyes meaner than you do; |
| Convenient, and more proportional. |
| So, if I dream I have you, I have you: |
| For, all our joyes are but fantastical. |
| And so I scape the pain, for pain is true; |
| And sleep which locks up sense, doth lock out all. |
| After such a fruition I shall wake, |
| And, but the waking, nothing shall repent; |
| And shall to love more thankful Sonets make, |
| Then if more honour, tears, and paines were spent. |
| But dearest heart, and dearer Image stay, |
| Alas, true joyes at best are dreams enough; |
| Though you stay here, you pass too fast away: |
| For even at first lifes Taper is a snuffe. |
| Fill'd with her love, may I be rather grown |
| Mad with much heart, then idiot with none.
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[CW: Eleg.] |