Let griefe as farre be from your dearest breast
As I doe wish, or in my hands to ease;
Then should it banish'd be, and sweetest rest
Be plac'd to give content by Love to please.
Let those disdaines which on your heart do seaze,
Doubly returne to bring her soules unrest:
Since true love will not that belov'd displease;
Or let least smart to their minds be addrest.
But oftentimes mistakings be in love.
Be they as farre from false accusing right,
And still truth governe with a constant might
So shall you only wished pleasures prove.
And as for mee she that shewes you least scorne,
With all despite and hate, be her heart torne.
Saturday, September 18, 2010