Sonnet LIX. Do I, unto a cruel tiger play

Bartholomew Griffin (d. 1602)

DO I, unto a cruel tiger play;

That preys on me, as wolf upon the lambs?

(Who fear the danger, both of night and day,

And run for succour to their tender dams)

Yet will I pray (though She be ever cruel!)

On bended knee, and with submissive heart!

She is the fire, and I must be the fuel.

She must inflict, and I endure the smart.

She must, She shall be mistress of her will;

And I, poor I, obedient to the same:

As fit to suffer death, as She to kill;

As ready to be blamed, as She to blame.

And for I am the subject of her ire,

All men shall know thereby my love entire.