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. to Works of Richard Lovelace Site copyright ©1996-2001 Anniina Jokinen.    All Rights Reserved. Created by Anniina Jokinen on June 19, 2001.