Sonnet XVI. What may be thought of thine untowardness

William Percy (1575–1648)

WHAT may be thought of thine untowardness,

That movest still at every motion?

What may be hoped of so strange uncouthness,

That scorns all vows, scorns all devotion?

If I but sue, thou wouldst relieve mine anguish,

Two threatening arcs thou bendest rigorously!

Then if I swear thy love did make me languish,

Thou turn’st away, and smilest scornfully!

Then if I wish thou would’st not tyrannize;

Of Tyranny thou mak’st but a mockery!

And if I weep, my tears thou dost despise!

And if I stir, thou threatenest battery!

Frown on! smile on! mock me! despise me! threat me!

All shall not make me leave for to intreat thee!