I. <br />If teares could wash the ill away, <br />A pearle for each wet bead I'd pay; <br />But as dew'd corne the fuller growes, <br />So water'd eyes but swell our woes. <br /> <br /> II. <br />One drop another cals, which still <br />(Griefe adding fuell) doth distill; <br />Too fruitfull of her selfe is anguish, <br />We need no cherishing to languish. <br /> <br /> III. <br />Coward fate degen'rate man <br />Like little children uses, when <br />He whips us first, untill we weepe, <br />Then, 'cause we still a weeping keepe. <br /> <br /> IV. <br />Then from thy firme selfe never swerve; <br />Teares fat the griefe that they should sterve; <br />Iron decrees of destinie <br />Are ner'e wipe't out with a wet eye. <br /> <br /> V. <br />But this way you may gaine the field, <br />Oppose but sorrow, and 'twill yield; <br />One gallant thorough-made resolve <br />Doth starry influence dissolve.<br /><br />Richard Lovelace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-his-deare-brother-colonel-f-l-immoderately-mo/
