Vast was his soul some favorite above <br />Whose bolder pencil made a boy of love <br />A boy he thought him lovers less then boyes <br />Who barter all things for a crop of toyes <br />He wisely too his roving pow'r bestowd— <br />& in unconstant feathers drest the God <br />for now we love anon we hate ye same <br />Fantastick passion varyes all extreams <br />Justly he drew him for his play things darts <br />The little wanton sports with bleeding hearts <br />Justly he drew them to my cost Ive found <br />Unseen they fly & still secure to wound <br />his arms & younger follys fill my heart <br />But he has lost or hid his better part <br />His wings no more their heav'nly burthen bear <br />He sitts an everlasting trouble here <br />My bloud he fires torments my wretched breast <br />Drains all my bones & robs my soul of rest <br />Cease cruell master fly to fuller veines <br />Your slave is wasted with incessant pains <br />Imploy your force on something I alas <br />Am but the shadow of the man I was <br />Why shoud I dy who live but for your use <br />& to your part debauch the virgin muse <br />Who write of nought but arrows flames & eyes <br />& sing your brightest servants to the skyes.<br /><br />Thomas Parnell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prop-2-l-11-e-quicunque-c/
