John Lyly: Sappho's Song

CRUEL Love, on thee I lay 
    My curse, which shall strike blind the day ; 
    Never may sleep with velvet hand 
    Charm thine eyes with sacred wand ; 
    Thy jailors shall be hopes and fears ; 
    Thy prison-mates groans, sighs, and tears ; 
    Thy play to wear out weary times, 
    Fantastic passions, vows, and rimes ; 
    Thy bread be frowns ; thy drink be gall, 
    Such as when you Phao call ; 
    The bed thou liest on be despair, 
    Thy sleep fond dreams, thy dreams long care ; 
    Hope, like thy fool, at thy bed's head, 
    Mock thee, till madness strike thee dead, 
As, Phao, thou dost me with thy proud eyes ; 
In thee poor Sappho lives, for thee she dies. 

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