Sonnet XVIII. Write! write! help! help, sweet Muse! and never cease!

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

WRITE! write! help! help, sweet Muse! and never cease!

In endless labours, pens and paper tire!

Until I purchase my long wished Desire.

Brains, with my Reason, never rest in peace!

Waste breathless words! and breathful sighs increase!

Till of my woes, remorseful, you espy her;

Till she with me, be burnt in equal fire.

I never will, from labour, wits release!

My senses never shall in quiet rest;

Till thou be pitiful, and love alike!

And if thou never pity my distresses;

Thy cruelty, with endless force shall strike

Upon my wits, to ceaseless writs addrest!

My cares, in hope of some revenge, this lesses.