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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374421" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet LVII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374421" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">SWeet warriour when shall I haue peace with you?<br>High time it is, this warre now ended were:<br>which I no lenger can endure to sue,<br>ne your incessant battry more to beare:<br>So weake my powres, so sore my wounds appeare,<br>that wonder is how I should liue a iot,<br>seeing my hart through launched euery where<br>with thousand arrowes, which your eies haue shot:<br>Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not,<br>but glory thinke to make these cruel stoures,<br>ye cruell one, what glory can be got,<br>in slaying him that would liue gladly yours?<br>Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely grace.<br>that al my wounds will heale in little space.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edmund+Spenser">Edmund Spenser</a></strong></div>