Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
Parthenophil and ParthenopheSonnet XXXV. Next, when my sun, by progress, took his hold
Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)N
In Cancer, of my Mistress’ crafty mind;
How retrograde seemed She! when as I told
That “in his claws, such torches I did find;
Which if She did not to my tears lay plain
That they might quenchèd be from their outrage;
My love’s hot June should be consumed in pain,
Unless her pity make my grief assuage.”
O, how She frowns! and like the Crab, back turns!
When I request her put her beams apart;
Yet with her beams, my soul’s delight, She burns!
She pities not to think upon my smart!
Nor from her Cancer’s claws can I depart:
For there, the torch of my red-hot Desire
Grieves and relieves me, with continual fire.