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Licia, or Poemes of Loue

In Honour of the admirable and singular vertues of his Lady, to the imitation of the best Latin Poets, and others. Whereunto is added the Rising to the Crowne of Richard the third [by Giles Fletcher]
  
  

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Sonnet. XXI.
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22

Sonnet. XXI.

[Lycia my love was sitting in a grove]

Lycia my love was sitting in a grove,
Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs,
But straight she spy'd, where two together strove,
Ech one complaining of the others wrongs.
Cupid did crie, lamenting of the harme:
Ioves messenger, thou wrong'st me too too farre:
Vse thou thy rodde, relye upon thy charme:
Thinke not by speach, my force thou canst debarre.
A rodde (syr boy) were fitter for a childe,
My weapons oft, and tongue, and minde you tooke?
And in my wrong at my distresse thou smil'de,
And scorn'd to grace me with a loving looke.
Speake you (sweet love) for you did all the wrong,
That broke his arrowes, and did binde his tong.