Parthenophil and Parthenophe | ||
SONNET XXVIII.
[So be my labours endlesse in their turnes]
So be my labours endlesse in their turnesTurne turne Parthenophe turne and relent,
Hard is thine harte and neuer will repent,
See how this hart within my body burnes:
Thou sees it not atin'd therfore thou reiournes
My pleasures, ill my dayes bene ouerspent:
When I begge grace, thou myne intreatie spurnes:
Mine hart with hope vpheld, with feare returnes
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Then if thou bee but humaine grant some pitie
Or if a saint sweet mercies are there meedes
Faire louely chast sweet-spoken learned wittie
These make thee saint-like and these saints befit
But thine hard hart makes all these graces weedes.
Parthenophil and Parthenophe | ||