ON HER WAYWARDNESS <br />This is rank slavery. It better were <br />To till the thankless earth with sweat of brow, <br />Following dull oxen 'neath a goad of care <br />To a boor's grave agape behind the plough. <br />It better were to linger in some slow <br />Unnatural case, the sport of flood or fire, <br />To be undone by some inhuman vow <br />And robbed in youth of youth and its desire. <br />It better were to perish than thus live <br />Thy pensioner and bondsman, day by day <br />Doing fool's service thus for love of thee. <br />How shall I save thee if thou wilt not grieve <br />Even for shames like these? How shall I slay <br />The foes thou lovest, thou, their enemy?<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-i-to-manon-ix/
