Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 54. Of this worlds theatre in which we stay

Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,
My Love, like the spectator, ydly sits,
Beholding me, that all the pageants play,
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.
Sometimes I ioy when glad occasion fits,
And mask in myrth lyke to a comedy:
Soone after, when my ioy to sorrow flits,
I waile, and make my woes a tragedy.
Yet she, beholding me with constant eye,
Delights not in my merth, nor rues my smart:
But when I laugh, she mocks; and when I cry,
She laughs, and hardens evermore her hart.
  What then can move her? If nor merth, nor mone,
  She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone. 

1. Amoretti 10. Unrighteous Lord of love, what law is this
2. Amoretti 24. When I behold that beauties wonderment
3. Amoretti 61. The glorious image of the Makers beautie
4. Amoretti 75. One day I wrote her name upon the strand
5. Amoretti 87. Since I have lackt the comfort of that light

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