Sweet warriour, when shall I have peace with you? High time it is this warre now ended were: Which I no lenger can endure to sue, Ne your incessant battry more to beare. So weake my powres, so sore my wounds appeare, That wonder is how I should live a jot, Seeing my hart through launched every where With thousand arrowes which your eies have shot: Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not, But glory thinke to make these cruel stoures. Ye cruell one! what glory can be got, In slaying him that would live gladly yours? Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely grace, That al my wounds wil heale in little space. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS by THOMAS HOOD TOUJOURS AMOUR by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 25 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE COMING HUNS by VALERY YAKOVLEVICH BRYUSOV LORD NEVIL'S ADVICE by ADA CAMBRIDGE SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 13 by THOMAS CAMPION A SIGH FOR KNOCKMANY by WILLIAM CARLETON |