Edmund Spenser - Amoretti: Sonnet 33 lyrics

Great wrong I doe, I can it not deny, to that most sacred Empresse my dear dred, not finishing her Queene of faëry, that mote enlarge her living prayses dead: But lodwick, this of grace to me aread: doe ye not thinck th'accomplishment of it, sufficient worke for one mans simple head, all were it as the rest but rudely writ. How then should I without another wit: thinck ever to endure so tædious toyle, sins that this one is tost with troublous fit of a proud love, that doth my spirite spoyle. Cea**e then, till she vouchsafe to grawnt me rest, or lend you me another living brest.