Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet XIV
Alas, haue I not pain enough, my friend, Vpon whose breast a fiecer Gripe doth tire Than did on him who first stale down the fire, While Loue on me doth all his quiuer spend, But with your rhubarbe words ye must contend To grieue me worse, in saying that Desire Doth plunge my wel-form'd soul euen in the mire Of sinfull thoughts, which do in ruin end? If that be sinne which doth the manners frame, Well staid with truth in word and faith of deede, Ready of wit, and fearing nought but shame; If that be sin which in fixt hearts doth breed A loathing of all loose vnchastitie, Then loue is sin, and let me sinfull be.
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"Alas, haue I not pain enough, my friend,..."
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