GetPassage urn:cts:latinLit:phi0959.phi001.perseus-eng2:1.2.1-1.2.17 urn:cts:latinLit:phi0959.phi001.perseus-eng2:1.2.1-1.2.17

Ah me! why am I so uneasy grown?Ah! why so restless on my bed of down?Why do I wish to sleep, but wish in vain?Why am I all the tedious night in pain?What cause is this, that ease, that rest denies?And why my words break forth in gentle sighs?Sure I should know if love had fix'd his dart;Or creeps he softly in with treacherous art,And then grows tyrant, there and wounds the heart?'Tis so, the shaft sticks deep, and galls my breast;'Tis tyrant love, that robs my thoughts of rest!Well, shall I tamely yield, or must I fight?I'll yield; 'tis patience makes a burden light:A shaken torch grows fierce, and sparks arise;But, if unmov'd, the fire looks pale and dies.The hard-mouth'd horse smarts for his fierce disdainThe gentle's ridden with a looser rein.