Sonnet XXXII
SONNET XXXII.
S' amore o morte non dà qualche stroppio.
HE ASKS FROM A FRIEND THE LOAN OF THE WORKS OF ST. AUGUSTIN.
If Love or Death no obstacle entwineWith the new web which here my fingers fold,And if I 'scape from beauty's tyrant holdWhile natural truth with truth reveal'd I join,Perchance a work so double will be mineBetween our modern style and language old,That (timidly I speak, with hope though bold)Even to Rome its growing fame may shine:But, since, our labour to perfèct at lastSome of the blessed threads are absent yetWhich our dear father plentifully met,Wherefore to me thy hands so close and fastAgainst their use? Be prompt of aid and free,And rich our harvest of fair things shall be.