OF this worlds Theatre in which we stay,
My loue lyke the Spectator ydly sits
beholding me that all the pageants play,
disguysing diuersly my troubled wits.
Sometimes I ioy when glad occasion sits,
and mask in myrth lyke to a Comedy:
soone after when my ioy to sorrow flits,
I waile and make my woes a Tragedy.
Yet she beholding me with constant eye,
delights not in my merth nor rues my smart:
but when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry
she laughes, and hardens euermore her hart.
What then can moue her? if nor merth nor mone,
she is no woman, but a sencelesse stone.
Edmund Spenser's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Sonnet LIIII by Edmund Spenser )
- Choosing Directions, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Mind's Highway, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- While The World Is Asleep, Kewayne Wadley
- Songs For Harmony By Stephen Gill, Bijay Kant Dubey
- To Aleksandra, Thomas Bates
- Contained Essence, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- It's The Noise, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Gumsum Gumsum, Akhtar Jawad
- Workmates?, Over The Moon
- Some way or other, gajanan mishra
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