 | Poems (1872) |  |
73
XX. LONGINGS.
Feyne would I singe, but fury makes me frette,
And Rage hath sworne to seke reuenge of wrong;
My mazèd mynde in malice so is sette,
As Death shall daunte my deadly dolors longe:
Pacience perforce is such a pinchinge payne,
As dy I will, or suffer wrong agayne.
I am no sott to suffer suche abuse
As dothe bereve my hart of his delighte;
Nor will I frame my self to suche as use
With calme consent to suffer such despight:
Noe, quiet sleep shall once possesse myne ey,
Till Wit have wroughte his will on Iniurye.
And Rage hath sworne to seke reuenge of wrong;
My mazèd mynde in malice so is sette,
As Death shall daunte my deadly dolors longe:
Pacience perforce is such a pinchinge payne,
As dy I will, or suffer wrong agayne.
I am no sott to suffer suche abuse
As dothe bereve my hart of his delighte;
Nor will I frame my self to suche as use
With calme consent to suffer such despight:
Noe, quiet sleep shall once possesse myne ey,
Till Wit have wroughte his will on Iniurye.
My hart shall fayll and hand shall loose his force,
But some devise shall pay Despight his dewe;
And Fury shall consume my carefull coorse, corse
Or raze the ground whereon my sorow grew:
Loe! thus, in rage of ruthful mind refusd,
I rest revengd of whome I am abusd.
But some devise shall pay Despight his dewe;
74
Or raze the ground whereon my sorow grew:
Loe! thus, in rage of ruthful mind refusd,
I rest revengd of whome I am abusd.
| Poems (1872) | |