The Fourth Decade. Sonnet X. Hope, like the hyæna, coming to be old

Henry Constable (1562–1613)

HOPE, like the hyæna, coming to be old,

Alters his shape; is turned into Despair.

Pity my hoary hopes! Maid of Clear Mould!

Think not that frowns can ever make thee fair!

What harm is it to kiss, to laugh, to play?

Beauty’s no blossom, if it be not used.

Sweet dalliance keeps the wrinkles long away:

Repentance follows them that have refused.

To bring you to the knowledge of your good

I seek, I sue. O try, and then believe!

Each image can be chaste that’s carved of wood.

You show you live, when men you do relieve.

Iron with wearing shines. Rust wasteth treasure

On earth, but love there is no other pleasure.