Thomas Lodge

Sonnets to Phillis. 21

      Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans,
    O tears which gladly would burst out to brooks,
    Oh spent on fruitless sand my surging moans,
    Oh thoughts enthralled unto care-boding looks!
      Ah just laments of my unjust distress,
    Ah fond desires whom reason could not guide!
    Oh hopes of love that intimate redress,
    Yet prove the load-stars unto bad betide!
      When will you cease? Or shall pain never-ceasing,
    Seize oh my heart? Oh mollify your rage,
    Lest your assaults with over-swift increasing,
    Procure my death, or call on timeless age.
      What if they do? They shall but feed the fire,
      Which I have kindled by my fond desire.