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Elegia. 6. To his Diana.

My hope dooth tell mee, that after
This great rigour, of you:
I shall with sacred guerdons,
Be recom-pensed for wrong:
Shewing mee that I merite it,
Being patience so long.
But this imagind hope, (my cru-
ell warrier) is it true,
My hope dooth tell mee too (Diana)
That your Diuine beau-tie,


Cannot be accompanied with
Such crueltie as thine.
But what is't (my angrie warrier)
That yeeldes this plague of mine:
Fortune? or the origene of
The cause of cru-eltie.
My hope dooth tell mee too (my war-
rier) that my dolefull langore:
Will in a passient ende, amo-
lishe your extreeme great rigore:
The which all if it can, when your
Mothers gone we shall trie,
But if it cannot doo it then,
But would yet feede mee styll,
With presses of time: I'll giue ou'r:
And eu'r after I will,
Esteeme our Fortune, too much lowe,
For a hope set so high.