Şiir 6
So may thy gentle lady prove to thee;
May she to loose thy hateful chains incline,
And stead of water, be thy portion wine.
But what avail my soothing words? Thy ear
Is deaf, inhuman! to my moving pray'r.
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Your gates with posts of pond'rous oak are barr'd,
As if your house was for a siege prepar'd;
Why all this fence? what foe have you to fear?
And why in peace do you provide for war?
Thus rudely if your lady's friends you treat,
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What usage must her foes expect to meet?
Unlock the gate,-the morning will not stay;
Unlock the gate, and give my love its way.
Or is it sloth or is it sleep that brings,
This let to love, and pinions down his wings!
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Why else do I in vain repeat my prayer,
Is it, thou dost not, or thou wilt not hear?
When first I waited at thy gate, and thought
To 'scape thy care, I was at midnight caught.
With over-dilligence thou then look'st out,
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