The Collar
I STRUCK the board, and cried, ‘No more;I will abroad.What, shall I ever sigh and pine?My lines and life are free; free as the road,Loose as the wind, as large as store.Shall I be still in suit?Have I no harvest but a thornTo let me blood, and not restoreWhat I have lost with cordial fruit?Sure there was wineBefore my sighs did dry it; there was cornBefore my tears did drown it;Is the year only lost to me?Have I no bays to crown it,No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted,All wasted?Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,And thou hast hands.Recover all thy sigh-blown ageOn double pleasures; leave thy cold disputeOf what is fit and not; forsake thy cage,Thy rope of sands,Which petty thoughts have made; and made to theeGood cable, to enforce and draw,And be thy law,While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.Away! take heed;I will abroad.Call in thy death’s-head there, tie-up thy fears;He that forbearsTo suit and serve his needDeserves his load.’But as I raved and grew more fierce and wildAt every word,Methought I heard one calling, ‘Child’;And I replied, ‘My Lord.’