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Richard Lovelace - Sir Thomas Wortley`s Sonnet Answered
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I.
                    No more
Thou little winged archer, now no more
                    As heretofore,
Thou maist pretend within my breast to bide,
                    No more,
Since cruell Death of dearest LYNDAMORE
                    Hath me depriv`d,
I bid adieu to love, and all the world beside.

                    II.
                    Go, go;
Lay by thy quiver and unbend thy bow
                    Poore sillie foe,
Thou spend`st thy shafts but at my breast in vain,
                    Since Death
My heart hath with a fatall icie deart
                    Already slain,
Thou canst not ever hope to warme her wound,
                    Or wound it o`re againe.]


               THE ANSWER.

                    I.
                    Againe,
Thou witty cruell wanton, now againe,
                    Through ev`ry veine,
Hurle all your lightning, and strike ev`ry dart,
                    Againe,
Before I feele this pleasing, pleasing paine.
                    I have no heart,
Nor can I live but sweetly murder`d with
                    So deare, so deare a smart.

                    II.
                    Then flye,
And kindle all your torches at her eye,
                    To make me dye
Her martyr, and put on my roabe of flame:
                    So I,
Advanced on my blazing wings on high,
                    In death became
Inthroan`d a starre, and ornament unto
                    Her glorious, glorious name.
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