Sonnet IX. Whilst others ween sole hopes to be a sa[l]ve

William Percy (1575–1648)

WHILST others ween sole hopes to be a sa[l]ve,

Sole hopes I find to be my corrosive!

Whilst others found in hopes, an harbour have;

From hopes, I feel a sea of sorrows rise!

For when mild hopes should ease my raging fires,

They fester more, in that they are but hopes;

Then whilst I touch the foot of my Desires,

A storm of hate doth burst mine anchor ropes.

Were I but once resolved certainly,

Soon should I know which point my helm to steer;

But She denies my suit most womanly,

As hidden documents for us to hear.

Lo, this the cause my hell forsakes me never.

“Tell me,” dear Sweet, “thus shall I live for ever?”