A thousand pleasures do me blefs, And crown my foul with happiness. All my joys befides are folly, None fo fweet as melancholy.
When I lie, fit, or walk alone, I figh, I grieve, making great moan, In a dark grove, or irksome den, With discontents and furies, then A thousand miferies at once Mine heavy heart and foul enfconce. All my griefs to this are jolly, None fo four as melancholy.
Methinks I hear, methinks I fee, Sweet mufic, wondrous melody, Towns, palaces, and cities fine,
Here now, then there, the world is mine; Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, Whate'er is lovely or divine.
All other joys to this are folly,
None fo fweet as melancholy.
Methinks I hear, methinks I fee Ghofts, goblins, fiends, my phantafie Presents a thousand ugly shapes, Headless bears, black men, and Doleful outcries, fearful fights, My fad and difmal foul affrights.
All my griefs to this are jolly, None fo damn'd as melancholy.
Methinks I court, methinks I kiss, Methinks I now embrace my mifs; O bleffed days, O sweet content, In paradife my time is spent!
Such thought may ftill my fancy move, I ever be in love!
All my joys to this are folly, Nought fo fweet as melancholy.
When I recount love's many frights, My fighs and tears, my waking nights, My jealous fits; O mine hard fate I now repent, but 'tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, So bitter to my foul can prove.
All my griefs to this are jolly, Nought fo harsh as melancholy.
Friends and companions, get you gonė: 'Tis my defire to be alone.
Ne'er well, but when my thoughts and I
Do domineer in privacy.
No gem, no treasure like to this,
"Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, Nought fo fweet as melancholy.
'Tis my fole plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown, I will no light nor company, I find it now my mifery.
The scene is turn'd, my joys are gone, Fear, difcontent, and forrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, Nought fo fierce as melancholy.
I'll not change life with any king, I ravish'd am! can the world bring More joy, than still to laugh and smile, In pleasant toys time to beguile? Do not, O do not trouble me, So fweet content I feel and fee. All my joys to this are folly, None fo divine as melancholy.
I'll change my state with any
Thou canft from jail or dunghill fetch. My pain's paft cure; another hell; I cannot in this torment dwell; Now, defperate, I hate my life: Lend me a halter or a knife.
All my griefs to this are jolly, Nought fo damn'd as melancholy.
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