Elegy XI. Was it decreed by Fate’s too certain doom

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

WAS it decreed by Fate’s too certain doom

That under Cancer’s Tropic (where the Sun

Still doth his race, in hottest circuit run)

My mind should dwell (and in none other room),

Where comforts all be burnt before the bloom?

Was it concluded by remorseless Fate

That underneath th’ Erymanthian Bear,

Beneath the Lycaonian axletree

(Where ceaseless snows, and frost’s extremity

Hold jurisdiction) should remain my Fear;

Where all mine hopes be nipt before the Bear?

Was it thus ordered that, till my death’s date,

When PH&140;BUS runs on our meridian line,

When mists fall down beneath our hemisphere,

And CYNTHIA, with dark antipodes doth shine,

That my Despair should hold his Mansion there?

Where did the fatal Sisters this assign?

Even when this judgement to them was awarded;

The silent Sentence issued from her eyne,

Which neither pity, nor my cares regarded.