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Mary Wroth's Poetry: An Electronic Edition

Wroth Poem - F35 - Time only cauſe of my vnrest

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Song 5.

Time only cauſe of my vnrest
by whom I hop'd once to bee blest
    how cruell art thou turned?
That first gau'st lyfe vnto my loue,
and still a pleaſure nott to moue
    or chang though euer burned;

Haue I thee slack'd, or left vndun
one louing rite, and ſoe haue wunn
    thy rage or bitter changing?
That now noe minute I shall ſee,
wherin I may least happy bee
    thy fauor ſoe estranging.

Blame thy ſelf, and nott my folly,
time gaue time butt to bee holly;
    true loue ſuch ends best loueth,
Vnworthy loue doth ſeeke for ends
a worthy loue butt worth pretends
    nor other thoughts itt proueth:

Then stay thy ſwiftnes cruell time,
and lett mee once more bleſsed clime
    to ioy, that I may prayſe thee
Lett mee pleaſure ſweetly tasting
ioy in loue, and faith nott wasting,
    and on fames wings I'le rayſe thee:

Neuer shall thy glory dying
bee vntill thine owne vntying
    that time noe longer liueth;
T'is a gaine ſuch tyme to lend;
ſince ſoe thy fame shall neuer end
    Butt ioy for what she giueth
Song 5

Time only cause of my unrest
    By whom I hoped once to be blessed
    How cruel art thou turned?
    That first gavest life unto my love,
    And still a pleasure not to move
    Or change, though ever burned;

Have I thee slacked, or left undone
    One loving rite, and so have won
    Thy rage or bitter changing?
    That now no minute* I shall see,
    Wherein I may least happy be
    Thy favour* so estranging.

Blame thyself, and not my folly,
    Time gave time but to be holy;
    True love such ends best loveth,
    Unworthy love doth seek for ends
    A worthy love but worth pretends
    Nor other thoughts it proveth:

Then stay thy swiftness cruel time,
    And let me once more blessed climb
    To joy, that I may praise thee.
    Let me pleasure sweetly tasting
    Joy in love, and faith not wasting,
    And on fame's wings I'll raise thee:

Never shall thy glory dying
    Be until thine own untying
    That time no longer liveth;
    'Tis a gain such time to lend;
    Since so thy fame shall never end
    But joy for what she giveth.


'minute' = 'minutes' in P.
'favour' = 'favours' in P.
Song. 5.

Time onely cauſe of my vnreſt,
    By whom I hop'd once to be bleſt,
    How cruell art thou turn'd?
That firſt gau'ſt life vnto my loue,
And ſtill a pleaſure not to moue,
    Or change, though euer burn'd.

Haue I thee ſlack'd, or left vndone
One louing rite, and ſo haue wonne,
    Thy rage, or bitter changing?
That now no minutes I ſhall ſee,
Wherein I may leaſt happy be,
    Thy fauours ſo eſtranging.

Blame thy ſelfe and not my folly,
Time gaue time but to be holy,
    True Loue ſuch ends beſt loueth:
Vnworthy Loue doth ſeeke for ends,
A worthy Loue, but worth pretends;
    Nor other thoughts it proueth.

Then ſtay thy ſwiftnes cruell Time,
And let me once more bleſſed clime
    to ioy, that I may praiſe thee:
Let me pleaſure ſweetly taſting,
Ioy in Loue, and faith not waſting,
    and on Fames wings Ile raiſe thee.

Neuer ſhall thy glory dying,
Bee vntill thine owne vntying,
    that Tyme no longer liueth,
'Tis a gaine ſuch time to lend,
Since ſo thy fame ſhall neuer end,
    But ioy for ſhe giueth.
Song 5

Time only cause of my unrest
    By whom I hoped once to be blessed
    How cruel art thou turned?
    That first gavest life unto my love,
    And still a pleasure not to move
    Or change, though ever burned;

Have I thee slacked, or left undone
    One loving rite, and so have won
    Thy rage or bitter changing?
    That now no minutes I shall see,
    Wherein I may least happy be
    Thy favours so estranging.

Blame thy self, and not my folly,
    Time gave time but to be holy;
    True love such ends best loveth,
    Unworthy love doth seek for ends
    A worthy love but worth pretends
    Nor other thoughts it proveth:

Then stay thy swiftness cruel time,
    And let me once more blessed climb
    To joy, that I may praise thee.
    Let me pleasure sweetly tasting
    Joy in love, and faith not wasting,
    And on fame's wings I'll raise thee:

Never shall thy glory dying
    Be until thine own untying
    That time no longer liveth;
    'Tis a gain such time to lend;
    Since so thy fame shall never end
    But joy for what she giveth.



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