Sonnet LXXXII / A_t last, though late versuri

Versuri Thomas Watson – Sonnet LXXXII / A_t last, though late lyrics

A_t last, though late, farewell old wellad_a:
M_irth or mischance strike up a new alar_m,
A_nd Cypria la nemica mi_a
R_etire to Cyprus Isle, and ceased thy wa_r,
E_lse must thou prove how Reason can by charm_e
E_nforce to flight thy blindfold brat and the_e.
S_o frames it with me now, that I confes_s,
T_he life I led in Love devoid of res_t,
I_t was a Hell, where none felt more than I,
N_or any with like miseries forlor_n.
S_ince therefore now my woes are waxed les_s,
A_nd Reason bids me leave old wellad_a,
N_o longer shall the world laugh me to scor_n:
I_’ll choose a path that shall not lead awr_y.
R_est then with me from your blind Cupids ca_r
E_ach one of you that serve and would be fre_e.
«His double thrall that Liv’s as Love thinks best,
Whose hand still Tyrant like to hurt is press’t».