VIII
[Goe wailing verse the issue of thy fire]
[1]
Goe wailing verse the issue of thy fire
Begot on sighes which vent from my torne heart
Tel thou thy parēts neuer quenchd desire,
Tel of his griefes & of his endles smart
Tel of his passions and his sad laments
How stil he sues hard she yet neere relents.
2
Deepe sobs the silent Orators of loue,
Sad sighes the muttering ecchoes of my pain,
Heart renting groanes the agent which would moue,
Compassion with that checke bedewed raine.
Raine which doth trickle from my watrie eyes,
Hoping at length sheele heare my doleful cries.
3
But Oh would that sweete faire had been the butte
For Cupid to haue aymde at with his shaftes,
Then had not these my pations boulted out,
Blasing my follies vnto wise mens hates.
4
But why wish I to Cupid so much good,
When he hath broke his shafts and siluer bow,
And finds a flame inkindled in my bloud,
Which neither ise cā quēch nor mountain snow
And sure no maruaile if he conquere men,
when gods so faire a saint; haue neuer seene.
5
Her eyes like globes contain a thousand orbs,
Her ruby lips her perled teeth in number,
with that sweet tongsuch harmony affordes,
As with applause makes all the world to {wonder}.
