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‘ A L A S !   S O   A L L   T H I N G S   N O W   D O   H O L D   T H E I R   P E A C E ’


Alas! so all things now do hold their peace,
Heaven and earth disturb
èd in nothing.
The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease,
The night
è’s chare the stars about doth bring. chariot, i.e. Ursa Major
Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less:
So am not I, whom love, alas, doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great increase
Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing
In joy and woe, as in a doubtful ease.
For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure bring,
But by and by the cause of my disease discomfort
Gives me a pang that inwardly doth sting,
When that I think what grief it is again
To live and lack the thing should rid my pain.



An adaptation of Petrarch's 145th (113th) sonnet.

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