Parthenophil and Parthenophe Sonnettes, Madrigals, Elegies and Odes [by Barnabe Barnes] |
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MADRIGALL 19.
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MADRIGALL 19.
[Thy loues conceites are wounde about mine hart]
Thy loues conceites are wounde about mine hart,Thy loue it selfe within mine hart a wounde:
Thy torches all arow sticke,
Which thy sweet grace about mine hart hath bounde:
There gleaming arrowes sticke in euery part,
Which vnto my marrow pricke.
Thy bewties fancie, to mine hart is thrall,
Mine hart, thy beauties thrall is founde:
And thou mine hart a bulwarcke art,
Conquer'd with bewtie, batter'd to the grounde.
And yet though conquer'd will not yeeld at all,
For in that conflict though I fall,
Yet I my selfe a conquerer repute:
In fight continuall, like victorious mart,
Yet euer yeeld, as euer ouerthrowne.
To be still prisoner is my suite,
I will be still thy captiue knowne:
Such pleasing seruitude,
Victorious conquest is, and fortitude.
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