My meter is all over the place.
I won't be writing any more sonnets any time soon.
Good Sir, my nature is suited for peace
And I am not ignorant of what I owe,
Therefore my stubbornness must shortly cease:
Societal inclinations make it so.
The illustrious treasures you produce
Delight and enchant, but they cannot compel
A righteous woman, nor her seduce,
As any benevolent suitor knows well.
Only modesty drives me to oppose
The love you offer, but with its cessation,
Loyalty from roots of gentleness grows
And thus I blossom in cooperation.
The day will come when I shall, without fear,
Yield to your harmonies and forfeit with cheer.
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