Richard Lovelace.


 
Sir THOMAS WORTLEY'S Sonnet Answered.

The Sonnet.

I
                                  No more
    Thou little winged Archer, now no more
                                  As heretofore,
    Thou maist pretend within my breast to bide,
                                  No more,
    Since Cruell Death of dearest Lyndamore
                                  Hath me depriv'd,
    I bid adieu to Love, and all the world beside.

II
                                  Go, go ;
    Lay by thy quiver and unbend thy Bow
                                  Poore sillie Foe,
    Thou spend'st thy shafts but at my breast in Vain,
                                  Since Death
    My heart hath with a fatall Icie Deart
                                  Already slain,
    Thou canst not ever hope to warme her wound,
                                  Or wound it o're againe.


The Answer.

I
                                  Againe,
    Thou witty Cruell Wanton, now againe,
                                  Through ev'ry Veine,
    Hurle all your lightning, and strike ev'ry Dart.
                                  Againe,
    Before I feele this pleasing, pleasing paine,
                                  I have no Heart,
    Nor can I live but sweetly murder'd with
                                  So deare, so deare a smart.

II
                                  Then flye,
    And kindle all your Torches at her Eye,
                                  To make me Dye
    Her Martyr, and put on my Roabe of Flame :
                                  So I
    Advanced on my blazing Wings on high,
                                  In Death became
    Inthroan'd a Starre, and Ornament unto
                                  Her glorious glorious name.




Source:
Lovelace, Richard.  The Poems of Richard Lovelace.
London: Unit Library, Ltd., 1904.  73-75.




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