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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374485" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XXXII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374485" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The paynefull smith with force of feruent heat,<br>the hardest yron soone doth mollify:<br>that with his heauy sledge he can it beat,<br>and fashion to what he it list apply.<br>Yet cannot all these flames in which I fry,<br>her hart more harde then yron soft awhit;<br>ne all the playnts and prayers with which I<br>doe beat on th'anduyle of her stubberne wit:<br>But still the more she feruent sees my fit:<br>the more she frieseth in her wilfull pryde:<br>and harder growes the harder she is smit,<br>with all the playnts which to her be applyde.<br>What then remaines but I to ashes burne,<br>and she to stones at length all frosen turne?</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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