When first I ended, then I first began, 
The more I travell'd, further from my rest, 
Where most I lost, there most of all I wan,
Pined with hunger rising from a feast. 
Methinks I fly, yet want I legs to go, 
Wise in conceit, in act a very sot, 
Ravish'd with joy amid a hell of woe; 
What most I seem, that surest am I not. 
I build my hopes a world above the sky, 
Yet with the mole I creep into the earth; 
In plenty I am starv'd with penury, 
And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth. 
I have, I want, despair and yet desire, 
Burn'd in a sea of ice and drown'd amidst a fire.