Sonnet IV: These Plaintive Verses

These plaintive verses, the Posts of my desire,

Which haste for succour to her slow regard:

Bear not report of any slender fire,

Forging a grief to win a fame's reward.

Nor are my passions limn'd for outward hue,

For that no colors can depaint my sorrows;

Delia herself and all the world may view

Best in my face, how cares hath till'd deep forrows.

No Bays I seek to deck my mourning brow,

O clear-eyed Rector of the holy Hill;

My humble accents crave the Olive bough,

Of her mild pity and relenting will.

These lines I use t'unburden mine own heart;

My love affects no fame nor 'steems of art.