Edmund Spenser




(Sonnet XI)

Daily when I do seek and sue for peace,
  And hostages do offer for my truth:
  she cruel warrior doth her self address,
  to battle, and the weary war renew'th.
Ne will be moved with reason or with ruth,
  to grant small respite to my restless toil:
  but greedily her fell intent pursueth,
  Of my poor life to make unpitied spoil.
Yet my poor life, all sorrows to assoil,
  I would her yield, her wrath to pacify:
  but then she seekes with torment and turmoil,
  to force me live and will not let me die.
All pain hath end and every war hath peace,
  but mine no price nor prayer may surcease.