Delia: Sonnet 4

THese plaintiue verse, the Posts of my desire,
Which haste for succour to her slow regard:
Beare not report of any slender fire,
Forging a griefe to winne a fames reward.
Nor are my passions lymnd for outward hewe,
For that no colours can depaint my sorrows:
DELIA her selfe, and all the world may view
Best in my face, where cares hath till'd deep furrows.
No Bayes I seeke to deck my mourning brow,
O cleer-eyde Rector of the holy Hill:
My humble accents beare the Oliue bough,
Of intercession to a Tyrants will.
These lines I vse, t'vnburthen mine owne hart;
My loue affects no fame, nor steemes of Art.