 | The Works of William Fowler
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IX.
Perhapps yow think with your disdainfull words,
with ruid repulse, with noyes reherst in yre,
with threatning eyes, mair offensiue then suords,
and silent pryde, to baise my high desyre.
Reclame these thoughs which dois yow so inspyre:
Love fearles is of deathe or yet disgrace,
And how les happ he hopeth for his hyre,
so muche the more his baldnes dois encrease.
your beautye was the first that wan the place,
and skaild the walls of my vndantond harte,
which captiue now pynes in a catiue cace,
Vynkndlye mett with rigour for desert:
yet, nochttheles, your servant sal abyde
in spyte of ruid repulse or silent pryde.
| The Works of William Fowler
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