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56. [A Song]
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56. [A Song]

[Wrong not, sweete Empress of my heart]

Wrong not, sweete Empress of my heart,
The merritt of true passion,
Pretending that he feeles noe smart
That sues for noe compassion,
Since if my plaints come not to approve
The conquest of thy beautie,
It comes not from defect of love,
But from excess of duty.
For knowing that I sue to serve
A sainte of such perfection,
As all desire, but none deserve,
A place in her affection,
I rather chuse to want releife
Then venter the revealing;
Where glory recommends the greefe,
Dispayre distrusts the healing.

198

Thus those desires which ayme too high
For any mortall lover,
When reason cannot make them dye,
Discretion doth them cover,
Yet when discretion bids them leave
The plaints which they should vtter,
Then thy discretion may perceive
That silence is a suiter.
Silence in love bewrayes more woe
Then words though never soe witty,
A beggar that is dumbe, you knowe,
May challenge double pitty.
Then wrong not, deare heart of my heart,
My true though secrete passion,
Hee smarteth most that hides his smart
And sues for noe compassion.