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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374464" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XLIIII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374464" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When those renoumed noble Peres of Greece,<br>thrugh stubborn pride amongst the[m]selues did iar<br>forgetfull of the famous golden fleece,<br>then Orpheus with his harp theyr strife did bar.<br>But this continuall cruell ciuill warre,<br>the which my selfe against my selfe doe make:<br>whilest my weak powres of passions warreid arre.<br>no skill can stint nor reason can aslake.<br>But when in hand my tunelesse harp I take,<br>then doe I more augment my foes despight:<br>and griefe renew, and passions doe awake,<br>to battaile fresh against my selfe to fight.<br>Mongst whome the more I seeke to settle peace,<br>the more I fynd their malice to increace.</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>

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