University of Virginia Library

J. S. his amasement.

Griefe is the sea that ouerflowes my hart,
Droun'de by my thoughts, that doe procure my smart,
My thoughts, and griefes be waywarde Dearest Deare,
Because I misse thee, when I wish thee neare/
And that I rest vppon thy auntient Loue,
Which chainge of time, nor absense cannot moue,
But all thy thoughts of me (I feare) are flowne,
Because thow think'st I holde thee not mine owne/
Or else thy hart, and thoughts, wolde breake with paine,
To think vppon the griefe that I sustaine/
Being such, as bearing in my trobled brest.
Olde auntient Loue: Nue griefes will neuer rest.
For thee my trust, my Life, my hart, my restles ioy
Is knowne, is pawn'd, is trobled with annoy.
Compare the cause of my much strainge estate/
And thow wil'te thinke I am vnfortunate.
And yt wolde make thy womanish breast to bleede,
With sobbs of sorowe, from fowle griefe not freede,
Which I in honest Loue will rather hide,
Then thow for me impatience sholdst abide/
And still be hardly thought of, and endure
Such plurall death of minde, which you procure/
Rather then you shall once your finger moue,
Or cause to ake: I will conceale my Loue:
Vntill the time my thoughts, and cares be free/
I cannot rest (my Sweet) but thinke on thee/
I wolde not wish my griefe (my Loue) be knowne,
Nor in the popular opemouth'de worlde be blowne/
That is the cause that makes my cariadge strainge
To thee thow think'st: and yet mine eye doth rainge
Sparcling out Loue fires, on thy Lillie brest
Wheare Philvmela builds her softe-down'de nest.
That auntient Loue to thee I haue profest.
Makes thee to thinke I hate thee with the rest.
Thoughe still I dote: and wolde not haue thee knowe yt
Till time, and place, doe serue for me to showe yt,
My head, my hart, mine eyes, my Lippes, my tounge,
Shall medytate thy praise, and singe a songe,
Of neuer dyinge Loue: set to the Lute
By great Apollo, making Venvs mute,
As blussing, for to heare thy bewties glorrie,
And vertues to bedecke my happy storye;
Sleeping, or waking, going, or sittinge still,
Seeing, hearing, tasting, feeling, speaking, shall fulfill,
And with this Concordant Pilgrim must agree
Vntill the time that thoughts and I be free
All dismall death, all plunging plagues, all greeuous grones,
All gulphes of griefe, all woes, and piteous mones,
All anguish, and what else procureth paine
For thee I feele, and euer shall sustaine
All pleasures, pastimes, mirth, and luckye ioyes
All happy howres, and euer blessed daies,
Are gone, are fled, are vaded and are spente,
Vnlesse thy Crimson-colored hart relent;
And that my happes, my future hopes fulfill,
My hopes by happes mischaunce my hart will kill.
Soe hopes, and happes, and all shalbe deceaued,
Vnlesse by thee my sweete they be releaued./