I struck the board, and cry'd, No more. I will abroad. What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life… — George Herbert

I struck the board, and cry'd, No more.

I will abroad.

What? shall I ever sigh and pine?

My lines and life are free; free as the road,

Loose as the wind, as large as store.

Shall I be still in suit?

Have I no harvest but a thorn

To let me blood, and not restore

What I have lost with cordial fruit?

Sure there was wine

Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn

Before my tears did drown it;

Is the year only lost to me?

Have I no bays to crown it?

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