Thomas Carew


NO more, blind god ! for see, my heart
Is made thy quiver, where remains
No void place for another dart ;
And, alas ! that conquest gains
Small praise, that only brings away
A tame and unresisting prey.

Behold a nobler foe, all arm'd,
Defies thy weak artillery,
That hath thy bow and quiver charm'd,
A rebel beauty, conquering thee :
If thou dar'st equal combat try,
Wound her, for 'tis for her I die.

Vincent, Arthur, ed. The Poems of Thomas Carew.
London: George Routledge & Sons, Ltd., nd. 57.

to Works of Thomas Carew

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