Ïðî÷èòàíèé :  170
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Òâîð÷³ñòü |
Á³îãðàô³ÿ |
Êðèòèêà
A letter devised for a yong lover
Receive you worthy Dame, this rude & ragged verse,
Lend wylling eare unto the tale, which I shall nowe rehearse.
And though my witlesse woordes might moove you for to smile,
Yet trust to that which I shal tel, & never marke my stile.
Amongst five hundreth Dames, presented to my view,
I find most cause by due desert, to like the best of you.
I see your beautie such, as seemeth to suffice,
To binde my heart in linckes of love, by judgement of myne eyes.
And but your bounty quench, the coales of quicke desire,
I feare that face of yours wyll set, ten thousand hearts on fire.
But bounty so aboundes, above al my desert,
As that I quake and shrinke for feare, to shewe you of my smart.
Yet since mine eye made choice, my hart shal not repent,
But yeeld it self unto your wyl, & therwith stand content.
God knowth I am not great, my power it is not much,
The greater glorye shall you gaine, to shew your favour suche.
And what I am or have, all that I yeeld to you,
My hande and sworde shall serve alwayes, to prove my tongue is true.
Then take me for your owne, and so I wyl be still,
Beleeve me nowe, I make this vowe, in hope of your good wyll.
Which if I may obtaine, God leave me when I change,
This is the tale I meant to tell, good Lady be not strange.
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