Verse > Anthologies > Elizabethan Sonnets > Fidessa
Seccombe and Arber, comps.  Elizabethan Sonnets.  1904.
Sonnet XVII. Sweet stroke! (so might I thrive as I must praise)
Bartholomew Griffin (d. 1602)
SWEET stroke! (so might I thrive as I must praise)
  But sweeter hand that gives so sweet a stroke!
The Lute itself is sweetest when she plays.
  But what hear I? A string, through fear, is broke!
The Lute doth shake as if it were afraid.        5
  O, sure, some goddess holds it in her hand!
A Heavenly Power that oft hath me dismayed,
  Yet such a power as doth in beauty stand!
Cease Lute! my ceaseless suit will ne’er be heard!
  (Ah, too hard-hearted She that will not hear it!)        10
If I but think on joy, my joy is marred!
  My grief is great, yet ever must I bear it!
But love twixt us, will prove a faithful page;
And she will love my sorrows to assuage!

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