Sonnet 60. Of the Duleweid. II Had I a foe that hated me to dead, For my reuenge, I wish him no more ill Bot to behold hir eyis, vhilk euer still Ar feirce against me with so sueet a feid. Hir looks belyve such honour suld him b[reid,] His wish wold be, his cative corps to kill. Euen Plesurs self could not content his wi[ll ;] Except the, Death, no thing culd him rem[eid.] The vgly looks of old Medusas eyi[s,] Compaird to hirs, ar not bot poets leyis ; For hirs exceids thame in a sharper sort : The Gorgon bot transformit men in sta[nis,] Bot she inflammis and freijis both at anis. To spuljie hairt, that minion makes hir sp[ort.] |
English Poetry - http://eng-poetry.ru/english/index.php. E-mail eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |