And even so I pray for your happinesse. Greenwich, this first
of September, 1596. Your Honors most bounden ever,
In all humble service,
ED. SP.
[* The Countess of Warwick's name was Anne, not Mary. TODD.]
* * * * *
AN HYMNE
IN HONOUR OF LOVE.
Love, that long since hast to thy mighty powre
Perforce subdude my poor captived hart,
And raging now therein with restlesse stowre*,
Doest tyrannize in everie weaker part,
Faine would I seeke to ease my bitter smart 5
By any service I might do to thee,
Or ought that else might to thee pleasing bee.
[* _Stowre_, commotion.]
And now t'asswage the force of this new flame,
And make thee more propitious in my need,
I meane to sing the praises of thy name, 10
And thy victorious conquests to areed*,
By which thou madest many harts to bleed
Of mighty victors, with wide wounds embrewed,
And by thy cruell darts to thee subdewed.
[* _Areed_, set forth.]
Onely I fear my wits, enfeebled late 15
Through the sharp sorrowes which thou hast me bred,
Should faint, and words should faile me to relate
The wondrous triumphs of thy great god-hed:
But, if thou wouldst vouchsafe to overspred
Me with the shadow of thy gentle wing, 20
I should enabled be thy actes to sing.
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