Sonnet I

Thy heart of hearts will'st be to my heart's ban
I would I had hap for thy own mistress
But plaint doth run through my unselfly plan
The burden of love, I crave thou caress
Advise o' the power thy love doth deem
Able I am not to rid o' my faith
My heart lay in my fictitious régime
Whilst ghosts pass o'er my mind in their wraith
A candle-waster's not what I've been born
Yet by reason a drunkard I shall be
My castrated heart is by thy own thorn
But ye not trough the treachery in me
Be the approver of my heart's retreat
For to dis-gorge and quit, I shall be set free

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