XXIV I HEAR Some say, "This man is not in love!" XXV O, WHY should nature niggardly restrain But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth! And let the bards within that Irish isle, And when my flowing numbers they rehearse, verse. TO DESPAIR XXVI I EVER love where never hope appears, Yet my hope's wings are laden so with fear As they cannot ascend to my hope's sphere, Though fear gives them more than a heavenly scope. Yet this large room is bounded with despair, So my love is still fettered with vain hope, And liberty deprives him of his scope, And thus am I imprisoned in the air. Then, sweet despair, awhile hold up thy head, Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead. XXVII Is not love here as 'tis in other climes, Or have our passions lesser power than theirs, Who had less art them lively to express ? Is nature grown less powerful in their heirs, I am sure my sighs come from a heart as true Equal with his that loves his mistress most. XXVIII To such as say thy love I overprize, Though I give more than well affords my state, In everything I hold this maxim still, |