Sometime have Emperors diseased received cure by rudest means…

Sometime have Emperors diseased received cure by rudest means

At peasant hands; sometime the feebler wins;

Thuswith ‘tis likely unlikely events chance,

Like angels walk on the ground, and I you entrance!

‘Faith, you dispar me faithful from faithless friend,

That mourn’d to mark you sorrow, wak’d when you wink’d none,

Beseech’d heaven He salve your wound and therewithal end;

Or content die when you did beat your breast and groan:

O know this my self-claim’d love is but general,

Every other fool of right to your love having wherewithal!


Love deepest rooted against heaven bears its head,

Whence, seen by cities divers, it’s accoladed:

Thus that you see my head best is disputation amongst courts,

Whilst your wrong on each plaintiff-head your bootless plea aborts!

Once a time was, when all vain attempters of your high limits

(I one) did befriend themselves in league against thee,

Though each misgave that knew defeat before, still more defeats:

Yet in one press, resolv’d themselves ‘pon your treasury!

O dissolute quisling I then! that abet the enemy,

And mine own ranks foil, for larger guerdon furnish’d me:


For, ‘faith, my implacable animus with Death subtly

Doth teach me some means to ensorcel Immortality by.


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By Sydney Chesterfield on May 22, 2016 · Posted in Braindrops On Yellow Leaves, Literary, Poetry

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