| Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904. | | | | Diana | The Second Decade
Sonnet IX. Sweet hand! the sweet but cruel bow thou art! | | Henry Constable (1562–1613) |
| | | SWEET hand! the sweet but cruel bow thou art! | |
| From whence at me five ivory arrows fly; | |
| So with five wounds at once I wounded lie, | |
| Bearing my breast the print of every dart. | |
| Saint FRANCIS had the like; yet felt no smart, | 5 |
| Where I in living torments never die. | |
| His wounds were in his hands and feet; where I | |
| All these five helpless wounds feel in my heart. | |
| Now, as Saint FRANCIS, if a Saint am I, | |
| The bow that shot these shafts a relic is. | 10 |
| I mean the hand, which is the reason why | |
| So many for devotion thee would kiss: | |
| And some thy glove kiss, as a thing divine; | |
| This arrows’ quiver, and this relic’s shrine. | | | | |
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