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Sonnet. 10.
[The heauens willing shew fauour among our paines.]
The
heauens willing shew fauour among our paines.
And to make both runne, of my weeping the streame:
And also eternall, your rigor extreame:
turnd your heart, to rocke, and my eyes to fountaynes:
And Cupid dooth bathe him in my syluer ryuers:
And being come out, of the flodes, of my yll:
He flies to your rocke, where as vpon a hyll,
The lyttle wanton, dooth prime, and rowse his feathers.
But when thy winter comes, and that thou art olde,
Felling thy rocke-hart, vnder his tallons colde:
Hee'll byd thee adiew with an eternall farewell.
And then thou hast fayre to say Loue is a rage:
Olde folke say so, cause Cupid dooth abhorre age:
But were they lou'de then, I doubt th'ed not be cruell.
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