Honour
She loves, and she confesses too;
There's then at last, no more to do.
The happy work's entirely done;
Enter the town which thou hast won;
The fruits of conquest now begin;
Io triumph! Enter in.
What's this, ye Gods, what can it be?
Remains there still an enemy?
Bold honour stands up in the gate,
And would yet capitulate;
Have I o'recome all real foes,
And shall this phantom me oppose?
Noisy Nothing! stalking Shade!
By what witchcraft wert thou made?
Empty cause of solid harms!
But I shall find out counter-charms
Thy airy devilship to remove
From this circle here of love.
Sure I shall rid myself of thee
By the night's obscurity,
And obscurer secrecy.
Unlike to every other spright,
Thou attempt'st not men t'affright,
Nor appear'st but in the light.
This page hosted by
Get your own Free Home Page