 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton
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Of a discontented minde.
Poets come all, and each one take a penne,
Let all the heads that euer did indite,
Let Sorrow rise out of her darkest denne,
And helpe an heart an heauie tale to write.
And if all these or any one can touch,
The smallest part of my tormenting paine:
Then will I thinke my griefe is not so much,
But that in time it may be healde againe.
But if no one come neere the thought,
Of that I feele, and no man els can finde,
Then let him say that deare his cunning bought,
There is no death to discontented minde.
| The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton
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