Verse > Anthologies > Elizabethan Sonnets > Diana
Seccombe and Arber, comps.  Elizabethan Sonnets.  1904.
The First Decade
Sonnet VIII. Much Sorrow in itself my love doth move
Henry Constable (1562–1613)
MUCH Sorrow in itself my love doth move,
  More my Despair to love a hopeless bliss;
  My Folly most, to love whom sure to miss;
  O help me, but this last grief to remove!
All pains, if you command, it joy shall prove;        5
  And wisdom to seek joy. Then say but this,
  “Because my pleasure in thy torment is;
  I do command thee, without hope to love!”
So when this thought my sorrow shall augment,
  That my own folly did procure my pain,        10
  Then shall I say, to give myself content,
  “Obedience only made me love in vain.
It was your will, and not my want of wit;
I have the pain, bear you the blame of it!”

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