YET MIGHT SHE LOVE ME
by: Thomas Kyd (1558-1594)
- HE is wilder,
and more hare withal,
- Than beast, or bird, or tree, or stony wall.
- But wherefore blot I Bel-imperia's name?
- It is my fault, not she that merits blame.
- My feature is not to content her sight,
- My words are rude and work her no delight.
- The lines I send her are but harsh and ill,
- Such as do drop from Pan and Marsyas' quill.
- My presents are not of sufficient cost,
- And being worthless all my labour's lost.
- Yet might she love me for my valiancy,
- Ay, but that's slander'd by captivity.
- Yet might she love me to content her sire:
- Ay, but her reason masters his desire.
- Yet might she love me as her brother's friend,
- Ay, but her hopes aim at some other end.
- Yet might she love me to uprear her state,
- Ay, but perhaps she hopes some nobler mate.
- Yet might she love me as her beauty's thrall,
- Ay, but I fear she cannot love at all.
POEMS BY THOMAS KYD
"Yet Might She Love Me"
is reprinted from The Spanish Tragedy. Thomas Kyd. London:
J. M. Dent & Co., 1898.