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Amoretti: Sonnet 85 Post by :C9Mouse Category :Poems Author :Edmund Spenser Date :March 2011 Read :2875

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Amoretti: Sonnet 85

Venemous tongue, tipt with vile adders sting,
Of that self kynd with which the Furies fell,
Their snaky heads doe combe, from which a spring
Of poysoned words and spightfull speeches well,
Let all the plagues and horrid paines of hell
Upon thee fall for thine accursed hyre,
That with false forged lyes, which thou didst tell.
In my true Love did stirre up coles of yre:
The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre,
And, catching hold on thine own wicked bed,
Consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire
In my sweet peace such breaches to have bred!
Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy reward,
Due to thy selfe, that it for me prepard!





(The end)
Edmund Spenser's poem: Amoretti: Sonnet 85

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Since I did leave the presence of my Love,Many long weary dayes I have outworne,And many nights, that slowly seemd to moveTheyr sad protract from evening untill morn.For, when as day the heaven doth adorne,I wish that night the noyous day would end:And when as night hath us of light forlorne,I wish that day would shortly reascend.Thus I the time with expectation spend,And faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile,That further seemes his terme still to extend,And maketh every minute seem a myle. So sorrowe still doth seem too long to last; But ioyous houres do fly away too
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The world, that cannot deeme of worthy things,When I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter:So does the cuckow, when the mavis* sings,Begin his witlesse note apace to clatter.But they, that skill not of so heavenly matter,All that they know not, envy or admyre;Rather then envy, let them wonder at her,But not to deeme of her desert aspyre.Deepe in the closet of my parts entyre**,Her worth is written with a golden quill,That me with heavenly fury doth inspire,And my glad mouth with her sweet prayses fill: Which when as Fame in her shril trump shall thunder, Let the
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