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PASSION, XXXIIII. (Book 34)
O Heau'ns recorde the somme of my request,
Confesse I seeke nothing but what is iust,
Some case of that which doth my minde molest,
Eare all my hope be buried in the dust:
Ye angrie stars let my submission pay,
The ransome of my captiue hartes decay.
Tis not obscure that I long pennance bore,
To purge the guilt of my fore-passed crime,
Let tribute paide, make euen with the score,
Which in Fates booke care crost of auntient time:
Then doubtles I some comfort shall obtaine,
Though Fortune doe my sacrifice disdaine.
Yet let me yeild, it booteth not to striue,
Of force I must giue place to higher powers,
Too weake I am, for such as me cortiue,
Without I might raine downe some Golden showers:
So DANAE no doubt I might enioye,
To beare a sonne his Graund-sier to destroy.
Haue I forgot my Ladies yet to moue,
Whose sole applause may pleade their sheapheards woe,
Tis you alone that shall my deedes approue,
For like the wee•…•…es, that fairest flowers out-grow,
My cares ou'r-spread the relique of my ioye,
And fatall feare did fadeing hope destroye.