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[The love which is imprinted in my soule]
  
  
  
  
  
  
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55

[The love which is imprinted in my soule]

The love which is imprinted in my soule
With beauties seale, and vertue faire disguis'de,
With inward cries putts up a bitter role
Of huge complaintes, that now it is despis'de.
Thus thus the more I love, the wronge the more
Monstrous appeares, long trueth receaved late,
Wrong sturres remorsed greefe, griefes deadly sore
Unkindnes breedes, unkindnes fostreth hath.
But ah the more I hate, the more I thinke
Whome I doe hate, the more I thinke on him,
The more his matchlesse giftes do deepely sinck
Into my breste, and loves renewed swimme.
What medicin then, can such desease remove
Where love draws hate, and hate engendreth love?