[THE SONNET. <br /> <br /> I. <br /> No more <br />Thou little winged archer, now no more <br /> As heretofore, <br />Thou maist pretend within my breast to bide, <br /> No more, <br />Since cruell Death of dearest LYNDAMORE <br /> Hath me depriv'd, <br />I bid adieu to love, and all the world beside. <br /> <br /> II. <br /> Go, go; <br />Lay by thy quiver and unbend thy bow <br /> Poore sillie foe, <br />Thou spend'st thy shafts but at my breast in vain, <br /> Since Death <br />My heart hath with a fatall icie deart <br /> Already slain, <br />Thou canst not ever hope to warme her wound, <br /> Or wound it o're againe.] <br /> <br /> <br /> THE ANSWER. <br /> <br /> I. <br /> Againe, <br />Thou witty cruell wanton, now againe, <br /> Through ev'ry veine, <br />Hurle all your lightning, and strike ev'ry dart, <br /> Againe, <br />Before I feele this pleasing, pleasing paine. <br /> I have no heart, <br />Nor can I live but sweetly murder'd with <br /> So deare, so deare a smart. <br /> <br /> II. <br /> Then flye, <br />And kindle all your torches at her eye, <br /> To make me dye <br />Her martyr, and put on my roabe of flame: <br /> So I, <br />Advanced on my blazing wings on high, <br /> In death became <br />Inthroan'd a starre, and ornament unto <br /> Her glorious, glorious name.<br /><br />Richard Lovelace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sir-thomas-wortley-s-sonnet-answered/
