Sonnet XXIV. Though they augmentors of my thraldom be

William Smith (fl. 1596)

THOUGH they augmentors of my thraldom be:

For her I live, and her I love and none else.

O then, fair eyes, look mildly upon me!

Who poor, despised, forlorn, must live alone else:

And, like AMYNTAS, haunt the desert cells

(And moneyless there breathe out thy cruelty)

Where none but Care and Melancholy dwell.

I, for revenge, to NEMESIS will cry!

If that will not prevail; my wandering ghost,

Which breathless here this love-scorched trunk shall leave,

Shall unto thee, with tragic tidings post!

How thy disdain did life from soul bereave.

Then, all too late, my death thou wilt repent!

When murder’s guilt, thy conscience shall torment.