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.
