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Poem	[Pg 257] SONNET XXVIII. I' mi soglio accusare, ed or mi scuso. HE GLORIES IN HIS LOVE. I now excuse myself who wont to blame,Nay, more, I prize and even hold me dear,For this fair prison, this sweet-bitter shame,Which I have borne conceal'd so many a year.O envious Fates! that rare and golden frameRudely ye broke, where lightly twined and clear,Yarn of my bonds, the threads of world-wide fameWhich lovely 'gainst his wont made Death appear.For not a soul was ever in its daysOf joy, of liberty, of life so fond,That would not change for her its natural ways,Preferring thus to suffer and despond,Than, fed by hope, to sing in others' praise,Content to die, or live in such a bond. Macgregor.
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