Sonnet XL. But, ah, my plague, through time’s outrage, increased!

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

BUT, ah, my plague, through time’s outrage, increased!

For when my sun his task had finished

Within the Scorpion’s Mansion, he not ceased,

Nor yet his heat’s extremes diminished,

Till that dead-aiming Archer ’dressed his quiver,

In which he closely couchèd, at the last!

That Archer, which does pierce both heart and liver,

With hot gold-pointed shafts, which rankle fast!

That proud, commanding, and swift-shooting Archer;

Far-shooting PHŒBUS, which doth overshoot!

And, more than PHŒBUS, is an inward parcher!

That with thy notes harmonious and songs soot

Allured my sun, to fire mine heart’s soft root!

And with thine ever-wounding golden arrow,

First pricked my soul, then pierced my body’s marrow!