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Mary Wroth's Poetry: An Electronic Edition

Wroth Poem - F70 - How many nights haue I wt paine indur'd

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5.

How many nights haue I wt paine indur'd
    wch as ſoe many ages I esteem'd
    ſince my miſfortune? yett noe whitt redeem'd
    butt rather faster tide, to griefe aſsur'd?

How many howrs haue my ſad thoughts indur'd
    of killing paines? yett is itt nott esteem'd
    by cruell loue, who might haue thes redeem'd,
    and all thes yeers of howres to ioy aſsur'd:

Butt fond child, had hee had a care to ſaue
    as first to conquer, this my pleaſures graue
    had nott bin now to testify my woe;

I might haue bin an Image of delight,
    as now a Tombe for ſad miſfortunes spite,
    Wch Loue vnkindly for reward doth showe
Sonnet 5.

How many nights have I with pain endured,
    Which as so many ages I esteemed
    Since my misfortune, yet no whit redeemed
    But rather faster tied, to grief assured?

How many hours have my sad thoughts endured
    Of killing pains, yet is it not esteemed
    By cruel love, who might have these redeemed,
    And all these years of hours to joy assured:

But fond child, had he had a care to save
    As first to conquer, this my pleasures grave
    Had not been now to testify my woe;

I might have been an Image of delight,
    As now a tomb for sad misfortune's spite,
    Which Love unkindly for reward doth show.

5.

How many nights haue I with paine endurd?
    Which as ſo many Ages I eſteem'd,
    Since my misfortune, yet no whit redeem'd
    But rather faſter ty'de, to griefe aſſur'd.

How many houres haue my ſad thoughts endur'd
    Of killing paines? yet is it not eſteem'd
    By cruell Loue, who might haue theſe redeemd,
    And all theſe yeeres of houres to ioy aſſur'd.

But fond Childe, had he had a care to ſaue,
    As firſt to conquer, this my pleaſures graue,
    Had not beene now to teſtifie my woe.

I might haue beene an Image of delight,
    As now a Tombe for ſad misfortunes ſpight,
    Which Loue vnkindly, for reward doth ſhow.
Sonnet 5.

How many nights have I with pain endured,
    Which as so many ages I esteemed
    Since my misfortune, yet no whit redeemed
    But rather faster tied, to grief assured?

How many hours have my sad thoughts endured
    Of killing pains, yet is it not esteemed
    By cruel love, who might have these redeemed,
    And all these years of hours to joy assured:

But fond child, had he had a care to save
    As first to conquer, this my pleasures grave
    Had not been now to testify my woe;

I might have been an Image of delight,
    As now a tomb for sad misfortune's spite,
    Which Love unkindly for reward doth show.



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