Sonnet Xiv - Poem by Mary Wroth
Except my heart, which you bestow'd before,
And for a signe of Conquest gave away
As worthlesse to be kept in your choice store;
Yet one more spotlesse with you doth not stay.
The tribute which my heart doth truely pay,
Is faith untouch'd, pure thoughts discharge the score
Of debts for me, where Constancy beares sway,
And rules as Lord, unharm'd by Envies sore,
Yet other mischiefes faile not to attend,
As enimies to you, my foes must be,
Curst Jealousie doth all her forces bend
To my undoing, thus my harmes I see.
So though in Love I fervently doe burne,
In this strange Labyrinth how shall I turne?
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