The English and Latin Poems of Sir Robert Ayton Edited by Charles B. Gullans |
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41. | 41. Vpon a Diamond cutt in forme of an hart sett with a Crowne
above and a bloody dart peirceing it sent in a Newyeares gift |
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The English and Latin Poems of Sir Robert Ayton | ||
181
41. Vpon a Diamond cutt in forme of an hart sett with a Crowne above and a bloody dart peirceing it sent in a Newyeares gift
Thou sent to mee a heart was Crown'd,
I thought it had been thine,
But when I saw it had a wound,
I knew the heart was mine.
I thought it had been thine,
But when I saw it had a wound,
I knew the heart was mine.
A bounty of a strange conceite
To give myne owne to mee
And give it in a worse Estate
Then it was given to thee.
To give myne owne to mee
And give it in a worse Estate
Then it was given to thee.
The heart I sent, it had noe paine,
It was intyre and sound,
But thou did render 't back againe
Sick of a deadly wound.
It was intyre and sound,
But thou did render 't back againe
Sick of a deadly wound.
O Heavens, how would you vse a heart
That should Rebellious be,
When you vndoe it with a dart
That yeildes itselfe to the?
That should Rebellious be,
When you vndoe it with a dart
That yeildes itselfe to the?
Yet wish I it had noe more paine
Then from the wound proceedes,
More for the sending back againe
Then for the wound it bleedes.
Then from the wound proceedes,
More for the sending back againe
Then for the wound it bleedes.
Envy will say some missdesert
Hath caus'd the turn't away,
And where it was thy fault, thy Art
The blame on it will lay.
Hath caus'd the turn't away,
And where it was thy fault, thy Art
The blame on it will lay.
182
Yet thou does know that noe defect
In it thou couldst reprove,
Thou only fear'd it should infect
Thy loveless heart with love,
In it thou couldst reprove,
Thou only fear'd it should infect
Thy loveless heart with love,
A crime which if it could committ
Would soe indear't to thee,
That thou would rather harbor it
Then send it back to mee.
Would soe indear't to thee,
That thou would rather harbor it
Then send it back to mee.
Yet keepe it still, or if, poore heart,
It hath been thine to long,
Send mee it back as free from smart
As it was free from wrong.
It hath been thine to long,
Send mee it back as free from smart
As it was free from wrong.
The English and Latin Poems of Sir Robert Ayton | ||