LIX.
             
        O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me
            No casual mistress, but a wife,
            My bosom-friend and half of life;
        As I confess it needs must be;

        O Sorrow, wilt thou rule my blood,
            Be sometimes lovely like a bride,
            And put thy harsher moods aside,
        If thou wilt have me wise and good.

        My centred passion cannot move,
            Nor will it lessen from to-day;
            But I’ll have leave at times to play
        As with the creature of my love;

        And set thee forth, for thou art mine,
            With so much hope for years to come,
            That, howsoe’er I know thee, some
        Could hardly tell what name were thine.