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Title: Casimirus, [Lyricorum] Lib. IV. Ode XIII
Author: Henry Vaughan [ More Titles by Vaughan]
If weeping eyes could wash away Those evils they mourn for night and day, Then gladly I to cure my fears With my best jewels would buy tears. But as dew feeds the growing corn, So crosses that are grown forlorn Increase with grief, tears make tears' way, And cares kept up keep cares in pay. That wretch whom Fortune finds to fear, And melting still into a tear, She strikes more boldly, but a face Silent and dry doth her amaze. Then leave thy tears, and tedious tale Of what thou dost misfortunes call. What thou by weeping think'st to ease, Doth by that passion but increase; Hard things to soft will never yield, 'Tis the dry eye that wins the field; A noble patience quells the spite Of Fortune, and disarms her quite.
[The end] Henry Vaughan's poem: Casimirus, [Lyricorum] Lib. IV. Ode XIII ________________________________________________
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