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Poem	SONNET CXXXVIII. Giunto m' ha Amor fra belle e crude braccia. HE CANNOT END HER CRUELTY, NOR SHE HIS HOPE. Me Love has left in fair cold arms to lie,Which kill me wrongfully: if I complain,My martyrdom is doubled, worse my pain:Better in silence love, and loving die!For she the frozen Rhine with burning eyeCan melt at will, the hard rock break in twain,So equal to her beauty her disdainThat others' pleasure wakes her angry sigh.A breathing moving marble all the rest,Of very adamant is made her heart,So hard, to move it baffles all my art.Despite her lowering brow and haughty breast,One thing she cannot, my fond heart deterFrom tender hopes and passionate sighs for her. Macgregor.
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