Sonnet LVII. Sweet warrior! when shall I have peace with you

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599)

SWEET warrior! when shall I have peace with you

High time it is this war now ended were

Which I no longer can endure to sue,

Ne your incessant batt’ry more to bear:

So weak my powers, so sore my wounds, appear,

That wonder is how I should live a jot,

Seeing my heart through-lanced everywhere

With thousand arrows, which your eyes have shot:

Yet shoot ye sharply still, and spare me not,

But glory think to make these cruel stours,

Ye cruel one! what glory can be got,

In slaying him that would live gladly yours!

Make peace therefore, and grant me timely grace,

That all my wounds will heal in little space.