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Mary Wroth's Poetry: An Electronic Edition

Wroth Poem - F6 - O striue nott still to heape diſdaine on mee

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.6.

O striue nott still to heape diſdaine on mee
    nor pleaſure take your cruelty to show
    on haples mee, on whom all ſorrowes flow,
    and byding make: as giuen, and lost by thee,

Alas; eu'ne griefe is growne to pitty mee;
    ſcorne cries out 'gainst itt ſelf ſuch ill to show,
    and would giue place for ioyes delights to flow;
    yett wretched I, all torturs beare from thee,

Long haue I ſuffer'd, and esteem'd itt deere
    ſince you ſoe willd; yett grew my paines more neere:
    wish you my end? ſay ſoe, you shall itt haue;

For all the depth of my hart=kild dispaire
    is that for you I feele nott death for care;
    Butt now I'le ſeeke itt, ſince you will nott ſaue
6.

O strive not still to heap disdain on me
    Nor pleasure take your cruelty to show
    On hapless me, on whom all sorrows flow,
    And biding make: as given, and lost by thee,

Alas; even grief is grown to pity me;
    Scorn cries out 'gainst itself such ill to show,
    And would give place for joy's delights to flow;
    Yet wretched I, all tortures* bear from thee,

Long have I suffered, and esteemed it dear
    Since you so willed,* yet grew my pains* more near.
    Wish you my* end? Say so, you shall it have;

For all the depth of my heart-killed* despair
    Is that for you I feel not death for care;
    But now I'll seek it, since you will not save.


'tortures'= 'torture' in P.
'you so willed' = 'such thy will' in P
'pains' = 'pain' in P
'my' = 'may' in P (transcription error?)
'heart-killed' = 'heart-held' in P; hard to say if this is an intentional revision or a transcription error.
6

O striue not ſtill to heape diſdaine on me,
    Nor pleaſure take, your cruelty to ſhow
    On hapleſſe me, on whom all ſorrowes flow,
    And byding make, as giuen, and loſt by thee.

Alas, euen griefe is growne to pitty me,
    Scorne cryes out 'gainſt it ſelfe ſuch ill to ſhow,
    And would giue place for ioyes delights to ſlow;
    Yet wretched I, all torture beare from thee.

Long haue I ſuffer'd, and eſteem'd it deare,
    Since ſuch thy will, yet grew my paine more neere:
    Wiſh you may ende, ſay ſo, you ſhall it haue;

For all the deapth of my heart-held deſpaire,
    Is that for you, I feele not Death for care,
    But now Ile ſeeke it, ſince you will not ſaue.
6.

O strive not still to heap disdain on me
    Nor pleasure take your cruelty to show
    On hapless me, on whom all sorrows flow,
    And biding make: as given, and lost by thee,

Alas; even grief is grown to pity me;
    Scorn cries out 'gainst itself such ill to show,
    And would give place for joy's delights to flow;
    Yet wretched I, all torture bear from thee,

Long have I suffered, and esteemed it dear
    Since such thy will, yet grew my pain more near.
    Wish you may end? Say so, you shall it have;

For all the depth of my heart-held despair
    Is that for you I feel not death for care;
    But now I'll seek it, since you will not save.



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