Edmund Spenser (Эдмунд Спенсер)

Amoretti 57. Sweet warriour! when shall I have peace with you?

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, appear,
That wonder is how I should live a iot,
Seeing my hart through-launced 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 will heale in little space.

[* Stoures, agitations.] 

1. Amoretti 5. Then was the faire Dodonian tree far seene
2. Amoretti 77. Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne?
3. Amoretti 11. Dayly when I do seeke and sew for peace
4. Amoretti 41. Is it her nature, or is it her will
5. Amoretti 65. The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre Love, is vaine

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