Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
Parthenophil and ParthenopheMadrigal 8. Why am I thus in mind and body wounded?
Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)W
O mind, and body mortal, and divine!
On what sure rock is your fort grounded?
On death? Ah, no! For at it, you repine!
Nay, both entombed in her beauty’s shrine
Will live, though shadow-like; that men astounded
At their anatomies, when they shall view it,
May pitifully rue it.
Yea, but her murdering beauty doth so shine,
(O yet much merciless!)
That heart desires to live with her, that slew it!
And though She still rest pitiless,
Yet, at her beauty, will I wonder!
Though sweet graces (past repeat)
Never appear, but when they threat;
Firing my secret heart, with dart and thunder.