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Mary Wroth's Poetry: An Electronic Edition

Wroth Poem - F31 - Fy treacherous Hope, why doe you still rebell?

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27.

Fy treacherous Hope, why doe you still rebell?
    is itt nott yett enough you flatterd mee?
    butt cuningly you ſeeke to vſe a spell
    how to beetray, must thes your trophies bee?

I look'd from you farr ſweeter fruite to ſee
    butt blasted were your bloſsoms when they fell,
    and thoſe delights expected late from thee
    wither'd, and dead, and what ſeem'd bliſs proues Hell.

Noe towne was wunn by a more plotted slight
    then I by you, who may my fortune write
    in embers of that fire wch ruind mee,

Thus Hope, your faulshood calls you to bee tride
    you're loth I ſee the triall to abide
    proue true att last, and I will ſett thee free
27.

Fie treacherous* Hope, why do you still rebel?
    Is it not yet enough you flattered me?
    But cunningly you seek to use a spell
    How to betray, must these your trophies be?

I looked from you far sweeter fruit to see
    But blasted were your blossoms when they fell,
    And those delights expected late from thee*
    Withered, and dead, and what seemed bliss proves Hell.

No town was won by a more plotted slight
    Than I by you, who may my fortune write
    In embers of that fire which ruined me,

Thus Hope, your falsehood calls you to be tried
    You're loath, I see, the trial to abide;
    Prove true at last, and I will set thee free.*


The personification of Hope mirrors AS 67: 'Hope, art thou true, or dost thou flatter me?'. But Wroth's sonnet is more complex, offering a paradox: that Hope will be set free if proven true in a trial which puns on trying something out and a legal trial - a sense strengthened in the revised final phrase for P, which reads 'gain your liberty', rather than 'I will set thee free'.

'treacherous' = 'tedious' in P.
'Late from thee' = 'from hands free' in P.
'I will set thee free' = ''gain your liberty' in P.
27.

Fie tedious Hope, why doe you ſtill rebell?
    Is it not yet enough you flatter'd me,
    But cunningly you ſeeke to vſe a Spell
    How to betray; muſt theſe your Trophees bee?

I look'd from you farre ſweeter fruite to ſee,
    But blaſted were your bloſſomes when they fell:
    And thoſe delights expected from hands free,
    Wither'd and dead, and what ſeemd bliſſe proues hell.

No Towne was won by a more plotted ſlight,
    Then I by you, who may my fortune write,
    In embers of that fire which ruin'd me:

Thus Hope your falſhood calls you to be tryde,
    You'r loth, I ſee, the tryall to abide;
    Proue true at laſt, and gaine your liberty.
27.

Fie tedious Hope, why do you still rebel?
    Is it not yet enough you flattered me?
    But cunningly you seek to use a spell
    How to betray, must these your trophies be?

I looked from you far sweeter fruit to see
    But blasted were your blossoms when they fell,
    And those delights expected from hands free
    Withered, and dead, and what seemed bliss proves Hell.

No town was won by a more plotted slight
    Than I by you, who may my fortune write
    In embers of that fire which ruined me,

Thus Hope, your falsehood calls you to be tried
    You're loath, I see, the trial to abide;
    Prove true at last, and gain your liberty.



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