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George Herbert - Affliction (I)
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When first thou didst entice to thee my heart,
        I thought the service brave;
So many joyes I writ down for my part,
        Besides what I might have
Out of my stock of naturall delights,
Augmented with thy gracious benefits.

I looked on thy furniture so fine,
        And made it fine to me;
Thy glorious household-stuffe did me entwine,
       And `tice me unto thee.
Such starres I counted mine: both heav`n and earth
Payd me my wages in a world of mirth.

What pleasures could I want, whose King I serv`d,
       Where joyes my fellows were?
Thus argu`d into hopes, my thoughts reserv`d
       No place for grief or fear;
Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,
And made her youth and fiercenesse seek thy face:

At first thou gav`st me milk and sweetnesses;
       I had my wish and way;
My dayes were straw`d with flow`rs and happinesse;
       There was no moneth but May.
But with my yeares sorrow did twist and grow,
And made a partie unawares for wo.

My flesh began unto my soul in pain,
       Sicknesses cleave my bones,
Consuming agues dwell in ev`ry vein,
       And tune my breath to groans:
Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce beleeved,
Till grief did tell me roundly, that I liv`d.

When I got health, thou took`st away my life,
       And more; for my friends die:
My mirth and edge was lost; a blunted knife
       Was of more use then I.
Thus thinne and lean without a fence or friend,
I was blown through with ev`ry storm and winde.

Whereas my birth and spirit rather took
       The way that takes the town;
Thou didst betray me to a lingring book,
       And wrap me in a gown.
I was entangled in the world of strife,
Before I had the power to change my life.

Yet, for I threaten`d oft the siege to raise,
       Not simpring all mine age,
Thou often didst with academick praise
       Melt and dissolve my rage.
I took thy sweetned pill, till I came neare;
I could not go away, nor persevere.

Yet lest perchance I should too happie be
       In my unhappinesse,
Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me
       Into more sicknesses.
Thus doth thy power cross-bias me, not making
Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking.

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me
       None of my books will show:
I reade, and sigh, and wish I were a tree;
       For sure then I should grow
To fruit or shade: at least some bird would trust
Her household to me, and I should be just.

Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek;
       In weaknesse must be stout;
Well, I will change the service, and go seek
       Some other master out.
Ah my deare God! though I am clean forgot,
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.
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