The Fifth Decade. Sonnet VII. But being Care, thou flyest me as Ill Fortune!

Henry Constable (1562–1613)

BUT being CARE, thou flyest me as ILL FORTUNE!

CARE the consuming canker of the mind!

The discord that disorders sweet hearts’ tune!

Th’abortive bastard of a coward mind!

The lightfoot lackey that runs post by death,

Bearing the letters which contain our end!

The busy advocate that sells his breath,

Denouncing worst to him, is most his friend!

O Dear! this care no interest holds in me:

But holy CARE, the Guardiant of thy fair,

Thine honour’s Champion, and thy virtue’s Fee;

The zeal which thee from barbarous times shall bear.

This CARE am I. This care my life hath taken.

Dear to my soul! then, leave me not forsaken!