SONNETS

AH burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest,
And your tumultuous Broyles a while appease:
Is't not enough, Stars, Fortune, Love molest
Me all at once, but ye must too displease?
Let Hope (though false) yet lodge within my brest,
My high Attempt (though dangerous) yet praise:
What though I trace not right Heavens steppy waies,
It doth suffice my Fall shall make me blest.
I do not doat on Daies, I feare not Death,
So that my Life be good, I wish't not long;
Let me Renown'd live from the Worldly Throng,
And when Heaven lists, recall this borrowed Breath.
Men but like Visions are, Time all doth claime,
He lives who dies to win a lasting Name.