how long have I lov'd, and serv'd you heere?
Yet all my passions scorn'd or doubted, although cleere;
Alas thinke love deserveth love, and you have lov'd,
Looke on my paines, and see if you the like have prov'd:
Remember then you are the Goddesse of Desire,
and that your sacred powre hath touch'd and felt this fire.
Perswade these flames in me to cease, or them redresse
In me (poore me) who stormes of lovde haue in excesse,
My restlesse nights may show for me, how much I loue,
My sighes unfaignd can witnes what my heart doth proue:
My saddest lookes doe show the griefe my soule indures,
Yet all these torments from your hands no helpe procures.
Command that wayward Child your Son to grant your right,
and that his Bow and shafts he yeeld to your faire sight,
To you who have the eyes of joy, the heart of love,
And then new hopes may spring, that I may pitty move:
Let him not triumph that he can both hurt and save,
And more, bragge that to you your self a wound he gave.
Rule him, or what shall I expect of good to see?
Since he that hurt you, he (alas) may murther mee.
Saturday, September 18, 2010