The Torn Letter

Nay, would I were so angered with the same!

O hateful hands, to tear such loving words!

Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey And kill the bees that yield it with your stings!

I’ll kiss each several paper for amends.

Look, here is writ kind Julia. Unkind Julia!

As in revenge of thy ingratitude, I throw thy name against the bruising stones, Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.

And here is writ love-wounded Proteus.

Poor wounded name, my bosom as a bed Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly healed; And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.

But twice or thrice was Proteus written down.

Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away Till I have found each letter in the letter Except mine own name.

That some whirlwind bear Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, And throw it thence into the raging sea.

Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ: Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, To the sweet Julia.

That I’ll tear away; And yet I will not, sith so prettily He couples it to his complaining names.

Thus will I fold them one upon another. Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.