Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
FidessaSonnet XVII. Sweet stroke! (so might I thrive as I must praise)
Bartholomew Griffin (d. 1602)S
But sweeter hand that gives so sweet a stroke!
The Lute itself is sweetest when she plays.
But what hear I? A string, through fear, is broke!
The Lute doth shake as if it were afraid.
O, sure, some goddess holds it in her hand!
A Heavenly Power that oft hath me dismayed,
Yet such a power as doth in beauty stand!
Cease Lute! my ceaseless suit will ne’er be heard!
(Ah, too hard-hearted She that will not hear it!)
If I but think on joy, my joy is marred!
My grief is great, yet ever must I bear it!
But love twixt us, will prove a faithful page;
And she will love my sorrows to assuage!