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Sir Thomas Wortley's Sonnet Answered


  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.

  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.]


Thou witty cruell wanton, now againe,
  Through ev'ry veine,
Hurle all your lightning, and strike ev'ry dart,
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.

  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.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

58 sec read

Richard Lovelace

Richard Lovelace was an English poet more…

All Richard Lovelace poems | Richard Lovelace Books

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    "Sir Thomas Wortley's Sonnet Answered" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 17 Apr. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/30212/sir-thomas-wortley's-sonnet-answered>.

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