The Seventh Decade. Sonnet IX. Wilt thou be still unkind, and kill me so?

Henry Constable (1562–1613)

WILT thou be still unkind, and kill me so?

Whose humbled vows, with sorrowful appeal,

Do still persist; and did, so long ago,

Intreat for pity, with so pure a zeal?

Suffice the world shall, for the world can say

How much thy power hath power, and what it can;

Never was victor-hand yet moved to slay

The rendered captive, or the yielding man.

Then, O, why should thy woman-thought impose

Death and disdain on him, that yields his breath;

To free his soul from discontent and woes,

And humble sacrifice to a certain death?

O since the world knows, what the power can do:

What were’t for thee, to save and love me too?