To a Friend (A Sonnet)

Were love so rough to me or as unkind
As you are to yourself, or felt disdain
Like you for sycophants, I'd never pined
For you in company, nor felt the pain
Of her attention, but though cruel scars
Mark Cupid's chiding lash, and terrible
Is nature's law, which all indifference bars,
In you she is still kind and merciful.
For by the work of life's vicissitude,
With you, my Bacchus, love has sternly taught
Me to beware of lenient solitude,
Which lasting joy, as friends, has never brought;

But were you free of love's encumbering bands,
Still wound in yours would be my longing hands.