University of Virginia Library


77

SONNET 40.

[No Arte nor force can vnto pittie moue]

No Arte nor force can vnto pittie moue
Hir stonie hart that makes my hart to pant:
No pleading passions of my extreame loue
Can mollifie hir minde of adamant.
Ah cruell sex, and foe to all mankinde:
Either you loue or els you hate too much:
A glistring shew of golde in you we finde,
And yet you prooue but copper in the touch.
But why? O why? do I so farre digresse?
Nature you made of pure and fairest molde,
The pompe and glory of man to depresse,
And as your slaues in thraldome them to holde:
Which by experience now too well I proue,
There is no paine vnto the paines of loue.