 | Amoretti and Epithalamion |  |
XXVIII.
The laurel-leafe, which you this day doe weare,
Gives me great hope of your relenting mynd;
For since it is the badge which I doe beare,
Ye, bearing it, doe seeme to me inclind:
The powre thereof, which ofte in me I find,
Let it lykewise your gentle brest inspire
With sweet infusion, and put you in mind
Of that proud mayd, whom now those leaves attyre:
Proud Daphne, scorning Phoebus lovely fyre,
On the Thessalian shore from him did flie:
For which the gods, in theyr revengefull yre,
Did her transforme into a laurell-tree.
Then fly no more, fayre Love, from Phoebus chace,
But in your brest his leafe and love embrace.
Gives me great hope of your relenting mynd;
For since it is the badge which I doe beare,
Ye, bearing it, doe seeme to me inclind:
The powre thereof, which ofte in me I find,
Let it lykewise your gentle brest inspire
With sweet infusion, and put you in mind
Of that proud mayd, whom now those leaves attyre:
Proud Daphne, scorning Phoebus lovely fyre,
On the Thessalian shore from him did flie:
For which the gods, in theyr revengefull yre,
Did her transforme into a laurell-tree.
Then fly no more, fayre Love, from Phoebus chace,
But in your brest his leafe and love embrace.
| Amoretti and Epithalamion | |