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Mary Wroth's Poetry: An Electronic Edition

Wroth Poem - F49 - Sorrow, I yeeld, and greiue that I did miſs

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Song vij.

Sorrow, I yeeld, and greiue that I did miſs:
will nott thy rage bee ſatiſfied wth this?
        As ſad a Diuell as thee,
        made mee vnhapy bee.
Wilt thou nott yett conſent to leaue, butt still
striue how to showe thy curſed, deuilsh skill;

I mourne, and dying am; what would you more?
my ſoule attends, to leaue this wreched shore.
        Wher harmes doe only flow
        wch teach mee butt to know
The ſadest howres of my liues vnrest,
and tired minutes wth griefs hand oprest:

Yett all this will nott pacefy thy spite;
no, nothing can bring eaſe butt my last night.
        then quickly lett itt bee
        while I vnhappy ſee
That time, ſoe sparing to grant louers bliſs
will ſee for time lost, ther shall noe grief miſs.

Nor lett mee euer ceaſe from lasting griefe,
butt endleſs lett itt bee wtout reliefe:
        To winn againe of loue,
        the fauor I did proue;
And wth my end pleaſe him: ſince liuing I
haue him offended, yett vnwillingly
Song 7.

Sorrow, I yield, and grieve that I did miss:
    Will not thy rage be satisfied with this?
    As sad a Devil as thee,
    Made me unhappy be.
    Wilt thou not yet consent to leave, but still
    Strive how to show thy cursed, devilish skill;

I mourn, and dying am; what would you more?
    My soul attends to leave this wretched* shore
    Where harms do only flow
    Which teach me but to know
    The saddest hours of my life's unrest,
    And tired minutes with grief's hand oppressed:

Yet all this will not pacify thy spite;
    No, nothing can bring ease but my last night.
    Then quickly let it be
    While I unhappy see
    That Time, so sparing to grant lovers bliss,
    Will see for time lost, there shall no grief miss.

Nor let me ever cease from lasting grief,
    But endless let it be without relief:
    To win again of love,
    The favour I did prove,
    And with my end please him, since living* I
    Have him offended, yet unwillingly.


This is an almost metaphysical song, which, like many of Greville's lyrics, turns upon a series of paradoxes.

'wretched' = 'cursed' in P.
'living' = 'dying' in P. This is a fascinating revision which, given the paradoxes that run through this song, underlines the 'dying' idea from the second stanza, yet 'living' is also apt as the song sees the life the speaker leads as offending love and not really a worthy life.
Song. 7.

Sorrow, I yeeld, and grieue that I did miſſe;
Will not thy rage be ſatisfied with this?
        As ſad a Diuell as thee,
        Made me vnhappy be:
Wilt thou not yet conſent to leaue, but ſtill
Striue how to ſhow thy curſed diueliſh skill?

I mourne, and dying am, what would you more?
My ſoule attends, to leaue this curſed ſhoare
        Where harmes doe onely flow,
        Which teach me but to know
The ſaddeſt houres of my lifes vnreſt,
And tyred minutes with griefes hand oppreſt.

Yet all this will not pacifie thy ſpight,
No, nothing can bring eaſe but my laſt night,
        Then quickely let it be,
        While I vnhappy ſee
That time ſo ſparing, to grant Louers bliſſe,
Will ſee for time loſt, there ſhall no griefe miſſe.

Nor let me euer ceaſe from laſting griefe,
But endleſſe let it be without reliefe;
        To winn againe of Loue,
        The fauour I did proone,
And with my end pleaſe him, ſince dying, I
Haue him offended, yet vnwillingly.
Song 7.

Sorrow, I yield, and grieve that I did miss:
    Will not thy rage be satisfied with this?
    As sad a Devil as thee,
    Made me unhappy be.
    Wilt thou not yet consent to leave, but still
    Strive how to show thy cursed, devilish skill;

I mourn, and dying am; what would you more?
    My soul attends to leave this cursed shore
    Where harms do only flow
    Which teach me but to know
    The saddest hours of my life's unrest,
    And tired minutes with grief's hand oppressed:

Yet all this will not pacify thy spite;
    No, nothing can bring ease but my last night.
    Then quickly let it be
    While I unhappy see
    That Time, so sparing to grant lovers bliss,
    Will see for time lost, there shall no grief miss.

Nor let me ever cease from lasting grief,
    But endless let it be without relief:
    To win again of love,
    The favour I did prove,
    And with my end please him, since dying I
    Have him offended, yet unwillingly.



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