Yet many will conjecture much amiss, Because my love so slowly is requited, Each spiteful Satyr will surmise by this, Thou hat'st me 'cause my pains have thee delighted; But let them please themselves with thought thereof, And with their wits ascribe their own applause, I free from anger at their harms will laugh, -- For some vex most when none will give them cause, -- That when thou seest how loyal I am thine, Thou may'st conceive the greatest harm is mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPIGRAM: TO FOOL, OR KNAVE by BEN JONSON WELCOME, LITTLE STRANGER (BY A DISPLACED THREE-YEAR-OLD) by CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS CONFLICT AND PEACE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE NEW JERUSALEM by AUGUSTINE THE BALLADE OF THE GOLDEN HORN by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 17. THE CHILD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) S. BARNABIE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |