Edmund Spenser(1552–1599)
Sonnet 54 ("Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay")
Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay,
My love lyke the Spectator ydly sits
Beholding me that all the pageants 0 play,roles
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits,
And mask4 in myrth lyke to a Comedy:
Soone after when my joy to sorrow flits,
I waile and make my woes a Tragedy.
Yet she beholding me with constant eye,
Delights not in my merth nor rues my smart:pities/hurt
But when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry
She laughes, and hardens evermore her hart. 0heart
What then can move her if nor merth nor mone,moan
She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone.