University of Virginia Library

63.
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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[Ouer theis brookes, trustinge to ease myne eyes]

Ouer theis brookes, trustinge to ease myne eyes,
Mine eyes euen great, in laboure with their teares:
I layde my face, wherin (alas) ther lies,
Clusters of clowdes, wch no Sunne euer cleeres.
In watrie glasse, my watrie eyes I see:
Sorrowes ill easd, wher sorrowes paynted be.
My thoughtes imprisned in my secret woes,
With flamie breastes doe issue oft in sownde:
The sownde to this strange ayre no sooner goes,
But that it doth with Ecchôs force rebownde.
And makes me heare, ye playntes I would refrayne:
Thus outward helpes, my inward grifes mayntayne.
Now in this sand, I would discharge my mynde,
And cast from me, part of my burd'nous cares:

499

But in the sand, my Tales foretold I fynde,
And see therin, how well ye writer fares.
With streame, ayre, sand, myne eyes & ears conspire:
What hope to quench, wher ech thinge blowes ye fire.