by William Alexander
How long shall I bestowe my time in vaine,
And sound the praises of that spitefull boy;
Who whil'st that I for him my paines imploy,
Doth guerdon me with bondage and disdaine?
O, but for this I must his glorie raise,
Since one thats worthie triumphs of my fall;
Where great men oft to such haue bene made thrall,
Whose birth was base, whose beautie without praise.
And yet in this his hatred doth appeare,
For otherwise I might my losse repaire.
But being as she is exceeding faire,
I'm forc'd to hold one that's vngratefull deare:
These euerchanging thoughts which nought can bind,
May well beare witnesse of a troubled mind.
Last updated January 14, 2019