The Lover Describeth his Trustie Love by Thomas Howell

Though horse so wylde in thousand partes
Should teare my corps most dolorous:
Though Fryde I were with piersing smarts
And boylde in lead most piteous.
Though sworde shouide pierse my hart so colde,
ln bloudy woundes my death to frame,
Though paine of hell to me were solde,
Most retchlesse wretch and yll by name.
Though thousand miles on foote I fare,
With naked legge in frozen stormes;
Though bloud of hart I spend in care,
Through countries farre in thousand harmes.
Though dread in feares doth worke dispaire,
And hope alone doth cherishe mee:
Yet rack that rendes eche lim so faire,
Shall not by smart take heart from thee.

From: Howell, Thomas and Grosart, Alexander (ed.), The Poems of Thomas Howell, (1568-1581). Edited, with Introduction and Notes, 1879, Charles E. Simms: Manchester, p. 34.
(https://archive.org/stream/poemsthomashowe00howegoog#page/n50/mode/2up)

Date: 1568

By: Thomas Howell (fl. 1568-1581)

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