Sinetes (1597) :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fine ripe cōceyts forsake the wearied minde,
And fancies faile, whē sorowes surges swaye
My pen bath'd in the waues of griefs vnkind
Must write of moane, of ruine & decaye:
A tragicke note doth fit a tragick chaunce,
A heauie heart with sorrowes pipe must daunce.

Like Pelican I wander all alone,
The dezart woodes and wildernes so wilde,
To senselesse groues, I crye and make my moane,
Eu'n from my thoughts all hope is quite exil'd,
Left thus to mourne the skriching owle keepes time,
With dolefull notes that to the heauens doe clime.

Notes that bewaile the griefes of carefull heart,
That charge my minde with heapes of deepe annoy,
Which vnto none I vowed to impart,
But vnto you my drenching dolors ioy:
Keepe ladies keepe the closet of my griefe,
Yeilde Ladies yeilde, for sorrowe some reliefe.

No darke despaire may drowne my drowsie hope,
If you giue life vnto my dead desire,
Nor ought may daunt my minde, yf you giue scope,
To pitties floodes to quench the kindled fire:
Fortune is blinde and will not see my paine,
Time hath a salue to cure the same againe.

PASSION. [II.]

[Rype griefe hath graft in slumbring harts dispaire]

Rype griefe hath graft in slumbring harts dispaire,
What still increase the motions of my care,
Thinke I of salues my sorrowes to impaire:
Then fearefull fitt the torments racke prepare;
For him that would presume to thinke of good,
When darke despaire drown'd hope in sorrowes flood.

Seas, floods, and waues, of fortunes weakefull scourge,
Cease not to roare, to swell, to tosse with winde,
Of bale-full hap, (which increase the surge,
Of sharpe disgrace) where perrils foord I finde:
For to augment the terror of my paine,
Where hope of naught but carking care remaine.

The stocke is dead, whereon the ympe was graft,
Which beare the fruite, that wonted sores did cure,
The graft must die, so must the fruit be laft
Naked to pine, and nipping fiostes endure:
The braunch consumes when perish'd stock doth faile,
When sappe is gone how can the growth preuaile.

My sappe is gone which norishment did yeilde,
My wythered fruite doth fall before his time,
I am the graffe which want my wonted sheilde
For stocke decayed I haue no roote to clime:
Lende ladies nowe your dolefull notes ech [OMITTED]
Pittie at least though not asswage my [OMITTED]

PASSION. III.

[Arcadi's Nimphs in mournfull sables drest]

Arcadi's Nimphs in mournfull sables drest
With plyant pipes sound dolefull musick note,
Bewayle your sheapheards fate, that thus opprest,
[OMITTED] increase of sorrowes set a floate:
[OMITTED] course doth scarce abide the tutch of time,
[OMITTED] wearied heart endur'd the bale-full chime.

The sound of chime doth sound in lothed eares,
[OMITTED] could endure such cruell sound to heare,
Which doth encrease a heape of dreadfull feares,
Where to my soule darke horror doth appeare:
Long passed cares renewe againe their course,
Fates fatall chaunce doth change from bad to worse.

A happie man had I neu'r happie byn,
For fortunes smile did cause my greatest fall,
To purchase ease by newe encrease of sinne;
Were for to make my soule, my bodies thrall:
Hap then what may, let fortune frowne or smile,
[OMITTED] cruell scourge shall not my minde defile.

[OMITTED] shrines I fill with volumes of my griefe,
[OMITTED] I craue to quench the burning fier,
[OMITTED] brought to Cacas some reliefe;
[OMITTED] may reuiue my dead desier:
[OMITTED] hope by fortunes passed change,
[OMITTED] the dezarts wilde to range.

PASSION. IIII.

[Nights rest is bard with weried thoughts controle]

Nights rest is bard with weried thoughts controle,
The pillow moanes bath'd in my drēching teares,
The sheetes beare guilt of my distressed soule,
Wherein is wrapt a multitude of feares,
When stealing nappe doth close my drowsie eies,
Then starting, feare sayth it is time to rise.

Yf sleepe at all possesse my vytall parts,
Then dreadfull dreames with gastly sights appeare,
Which do present the cause that wrought my smarts:
And doe a fresh renewe forgotten feare;
I sleepe in paine, I watch in wretched griefe,
Lyef's in dispaire sith hope forbids reliefe.

When cursed thoughts there carefull couch forsake,
Confused heaps of new encreasing sores.
Like wildfier tost in Phlegetons firie lake,
Or ship that stirrs gainst raging streame with ores;
So doth my heart with sorowing sobs neere spent,
Striue with the course that cares command hath sent.

My moane I make where pities bowre is built,
Your gentle brests is mercies chaire of state,
A Butt of bane which neu'r for lacke is tilt:
Yeildes fresh supplies vnto my frowning fate,
Then fortune then cleere once this smothing aire,
With salues of hope, after this long dispaire.

PASSION. V.

[Sound Triton forth thy heauy dolefull knill]

Sound Triton forth thy heauy dolefull knill,
That rings a peale of en'r enduring woe,
No vacant place but balefull Ecchos sill:
My heart is made a harbour for the foe:
That yeildeth foode vnto my cursed cares,
And poyson strong with hony ioyn'd prepares.

Heau'ns shew your power, earth tremble at my crye,
And stony rockes be molyfied with moane,
The rurall Gods with mournfull melodie,
Lament my chaunce, bewaile choice ech one,
Your sheapheard swaine in sables clad with care,
Doth for the dead some mourning weeds prepare.

The liuing doth presage his dying dole.
His life is death while others reape his toyle,
Who hath not power himselfe for to controle,
Is sure the fruite of some aacursed soyle,
His tong too long, his wisedome is too short,
Who rues in deede the thing he spake in sport.

But Ladies yet condemne not his desire,
Though passed deeds his present griefe procure,
And lare mishhapps yeild fuell to his fier,
That scant he can the scorching heate endure,
Whose ayde he craues to mollyfie his paine,
With pleasāt sport of some conceyted vaine,

PASSION. VI.

[In tract of time is pers'd the hardest fliut]

In tract of time is pers'd the hardest fliut,
Not by the force but by the droppinges fall,
My greefes from raging rigor neuer stint:
And can I then endure such cursed thrall?
Yt were a hell to thinke of such a paine,
Which naught but cares doth wrest from gored vaine

Vaine is my vaine, yet voyde of vaine delight,
Curst is the chaunce that chayngeth to extreame,
Vnhappie man, subiect to Fortunes might,
Can nought but greefe my fatall greefe redeeme,
Then welcom griefe though death more welcom weare,
Whose force at once might end tormenting feare.

Feare, which doth frett the wearie crased heart,
More then the paine, that torment can procure,
The heau'ns I call for to record my smart,
That thus long did such agonies endure;
Leaue to inuaye, loue to be iust yee skies,
And martyre those that doe your power despise.

Skies fild with flame, of fierie fretting ire,
That kindled wrath into my pensiue soule,
In Lvcans forge which frameth deepe defire,
To sell my life for Fortunes blessed dole;
Your dole I craue sweete Ladies to asswage,
The dismale doome of Ianvs daughters rage.

PASSION. VII.

[Scarce warme I burne, yet freeze in fierie flame]

Scarce warme I burne, yet freeze in fierie flame,
Displeased still, I rest content withall,
Yet male-content againe, eu'n with the same;
What freedom wrought, eft-soones hath made me thrall,
Thus contrarie these contraries I taste,
Thus borne to beare I liue my life to waste.

Life is a death, when dolors taste doth sway,
And death a life to such as crosses beare,
My thred is spoon to be the Vvltvrs pray,
That Tiger-like, my cruell death doth sweare;
Thoughts, force my lingring life, to weare and pine,
Conceyt will kill the stoutest heart in fine.

Distressed thus, my light-some hope is past,
And darknes doth with horror now appeare,
Maister the shippe that, hath a broken Mast:
Through darkest clouds Sonns goulden beams are cleere.
So let the beams and beautie of your grace,
Shine through the mist that doth my ioy deface.

Hide not the glasse with any wooden case,
Let vertues mindes some vertues workes bring foorth,
Doe not sweete Nimphs your noble mindes imbase,
With any act that shall not be of worth,
But let your sonne shine to your sheapheards case,
The praise is yours, if you his griefe appease.

PASSION. VIII.

[VVay-faring thus in wildernes of care]

VVay-faring thus in wildernes of care,
My woefull minde, with thornes of discontent,
Doth yeild new thoughts, which torments newe prepare,
Then I begyn againe for to lament:
Where first began the Period of my fall,
There first I pause, and rue the summe of all.

Thus doe I mourne, thus doe I moane my daies.
And itt'terate still my heapes of deepe annoy,
Thus-doe I liue, and liuing loue to prayse:
The thing which doth my comforts hope destroy,
How can I liue and lead this wearie life?
When life encrease, and death might end the strife.

O blessed death, would death but heare my crie,
And succour lend, to such as succour want,
O happie man yf lingering miserie:
Had once an end my dolors to supplante,
Yet would I feare least death would me forsake,
And lothed life my carcas dead awake.

Whom heau'ns doe spite & earthes disdaine dispise,
He whylome liu'd in pleasures pleasant bower,
With patience the low againe may rise,
The fretting horse is spent within an houre:
For all extreames doe worke extreame effectes,
And contrarie yeilde contrarie aspectes.

PASSION. IX.

[Yf wayling may appease the wrathfull Gods]

Yf wayling may appease the wrathfull Gods,
And pittie moue the tyranized heart,
My scourged minde with firie burning rods,
Maye paye the tribute of my restles smart,
With sacrifice of salt and brinish teares,
Which yeilde newe life to late departed feares.

No floode so heigh but hath as low an ebb,
No storme so great but hath a caulme ensures,
No man so mad to weaue his sorrowes webb,
And being condemnd his pardon will refuse:
Floods, stormes, and webbs, of griefe, of care, of paine,
May fall, may cease, may be vndone againe.

Floods, stormes, nor webs, of my new budding woe,
Will fall, or cease, or be vndone at all,
The more I striue, the stronger is the bowe,
Which will not bend but to my greater fall:
And still doth shoote the arrowes of disdaine,
My hope being dead to wound, to kill againe.

Dead hope except my froward fortune change,
Which bends her browe, and yeildes no hope to me,
But that I must in wildest dezartes rainge,
With sauage rude and Tigers to agree;
No force, for there the Driads I shall finde
With musickes note for to refresh my minde.

PASSION. X.

[Leaue soule to mourne for that which hath no cure]

Leaue soule to mourne for that which hath no cure,
Yt is in vaine to striue against the winde,
Set vp thy rest; that nothing can endure,
In such extreames, except it be assignd,
By th'mperiall powers that guide the starrs,
To trie thee here that sende such deadly warrs.

These miseries vn-thought approch'd the place,
Where first I ken'd the perrill which ensu'd,
But all to late: for then did hope deface,
My passed ioyes which heauenly I view'd:
Looking astance on that which came behinde,
My heart pen'd vp in sorrowes fould I finde.

You Ladies then the Nurses of my hope,
Which may asswage the swelling of my minde,
Affoorde vnto my captiue soule some scope,
Whome to your wills is willingly inclin'd,
With firme repose of vncontrouled thought,
Whoe, but your dome, accounteth all for nought.

By Phebvs beames, is cherished ech wight,
By Phebvs beames, the dead obtaineth life,
When Atrop cutts (which is our ioyes delight)
The twisted twine with stroke of fatall kniffe:
Can you not then helpe dead to life againe,
And comfort yeild that Phebvs beames retaine.

PASSION. XI.

[O lampe that guides the circle of the globe]

O lampe that guides the circle of the globe,
Yf pitties fruite doth nestle in thy brest,
Scorne not in pride, the humble to disroabe,
With nakednes from his enioyed rest;
That willing yeildes vnto thy sacred doome,
Thoughe web of care be knit in sorrowes loome.

You scoffing Ecchos that repeat my crie,
And answere make when to the woods I moane,
Yf anie say I faine, you may replie,
And witnes that vnder this curse I groane,
Who better knowes, if that the priest did ken,
All that he ought? then clark that said Amen.

You are the Sextons of my haplesse plaints,
That say amen vnto my dolefull songes,
And you doe knowe, my Ladies are the saints
(With sweete conceyts) that may redresse my wrongs,
Applaude their praise, record my deepe despaire,
With shrill, short sound, of new abrupted ayer,

Nay prating sound cease for to brag my paine,
Thou hast no skill to itterat my smart,
Let such repeate that hath a copious vaine,
Th'xtreamest panges and langor of my heart;
My Ladies may expresse my inward griefe,
Whose changed note may sound me some reliefe.

PASSION. XII.

[VVaste is the soile where naught but thistles grow]

VVaste is the soile where naught but thistles grow,
And barrē ground will nothing yeild but weeds,
Vnhappie is such that soweth not to mowe,
When hope is lost in care, then comfort bleeds;
Waste soyle, voyde hope, thistles and weedes encrease,
In my mindes waste, that waste for want of peace.

Peace with my soule (although my bodie warrs)
Would qualifie the rigor of my paine,
But that I want and must endure the scarrs,
To ranckle, which doe now begin againe,
When vlcers bleed, then daungers doe ensue,
And carefull thoughts my bleeding sores renew.

Renewed thus I count the clocke of care,
No minute past without the tast of smart,
Not as the diall, which doth oft declare:
The time to passe, yet not perceau'd to start;
Poets faine, time swiftly to flie away,
Yet time is slow, when sorrowe surges sway.

As rotten ragges being dipt, the water drawes,
By soaking fits out of the vessell cleane,
Eu'n so from me doth sorrowes droth (which thawes,
My congeal'd heart, with cruell cursed speene)
Soake out the ioyce and moysture of my braine,
For dropping eies can not from teares refraine.

PASSION. XIII.

[Gvyded by fitts, with malencholy looke]

Gvyded by fitts, with malencholy looke,
I laie me downe vpon the winding banke,
To heare the musicke of the running brooke,
And smell the grasse that was both fresh and ranke:
There I complaine, there lament my state,
That thus am crost with fortunes deadly hate

Then to the brooke, I thus begyn to moane,
Thou warbling streame that doest refresh my care,
To my distilled griefe and doest alone,
Giue place, and passage free prepare:
The same to bring vnto the boundles Seas,
Which there attend Sir Neptvns minde to please.

Thou searching scowrer of the grossest mould,
And element most subtile, fresh, and pure,
That windest about dame Terra thowsand fould,
Behould the martirdome which I endare:
That passeth through the Limbecke of my heart,
And fetts my minde, with force of gauled smart.

Say to thy selfe in still and silent sorte,
Doth fortune thus Sinetes true confound?
Ah Goddesse blind that loues such cruell sport,
To thy dishonour this will sure redownde,
Leaue of, knit thy bended browes on him,
That daylie doth in seas of sorrowes swimme.

PASSION. XIIII.

[Harpies, and hagges, torment my fearefull gost]

Harpies, and hagges, torment my fearefull gost,
No part is freed, from horror, and despaire,
My carcas thus in Carons boate is tost,
Medvsa doth with cursed snakie hayre,
Trans-natue quite, the vertue of my minde,
Vnto a stone, that is deaffe, dumme, and blinde.

Might but my soule enioye the fruite of rest,
And purge the sting, that wrought my bitter bane,
That hope mihht once my desp'rat minde inuest,
And strenngth encrease, to bannish thoughts profane:
Then would I ioy to see such happie day,
That once I might be freed from decay.

Sure I beleeue, thongh ioy could bannish care,
And that I might possesse a quiet minde,
And should winde out my selfe from sorrowes snare.
To cleanse my thoughts from fruites of errors blinde:
Yet would remembraunce of my passed paine.
Where griefe I left, force to begyn againe.

Then were my case far worser then before,
For vlcers cut yeilde corosiues extreame,
Salues hardly can, the former health restore,
And naught but death can tortur'd mindes redeeme:
Then must I rest contented with my lot,
Sith sorrowes now can not dissolue the knot.

PASSION. XV.

[Benighted thus with clouds of new-sprong charge]

Benighted thus with clouds of new-sprong charge,
My swelling heart (puff'd vp by force of heate,
Supprest) did burne, till teares did fier enlarge;
Then water quench'd the flame, and frost the sweate;
A dolefull choise of two euills one to name,
To frie in frost or freese in firie flame.

The time was come, that all my ioyes should end,
Then straying to me was this vn-wonted care;
And so much more my scalding sighes I spend:
For as I could I did my minde prepare;
For to endure these floods of deepe annoy,
That drown'd my hope, and rob'd me of my ioy.

O time accurs'd that eu'r I knewe that day,
Which hath dis-roabde my minde of sweete content,
For then were hatch'd the birdes of my decay:
When vn-awares my listning eare I lent,
To Sirens song, and Circes cursed charmes,
That train'd my minde, to worke his maisters harmes.

No musick then could better please mine eare,
Nor obiect seeme more precious to mine eye,
Then that which did my cruell torments reare.
Where but content I nothing could espie,
Yet fairest flowers haue filthie Adders nest,
And I haue found in pleasures vaine vnrest.

PASSION. XVI.

[Yeilding consent hauing vnlocked the gate?]

Yeilding consent hauing vnlocked the gate?
The garde which kept my minde in reasons folde,
Then fond desire wrought in my Minde debate,
How of my friends I might liue vn-controulde:
To follie then the restrained raines I lent,
Of libertie, which now I doe repent.

What toyes so vaine which then I did not taste,
What acte so badde I would not seeme to proue,
I thought that time could neuer my ioyes waste:
Nor checke the pride of mine vntamed loue,
Till on a heape my ioyes and follies toule,
The Bell of care, my louing ioyes controule.

Then gan I sighe, euen with a sad lament,
And pause vppon the remnent of my life,
Then that seemed greate which lest did discontent:
When as repentance sharpened sorrowes Knife,
To execute the Iudgement of the lawe,
On him, thereof that neuer stoode in awe.

When frendes forsooke, and enemies did prie,
To worke reuenge for some vn-modest parte,
Then gan my soule. with sorrowes to discrie:
The guilte of sinne, that lodged in my hearte,
Whose memory did racke my senses soe;
That strech't they were beyond the bonds of woe.

PASSION. XVII.

[Engendred griefe from seede of pleasures vaine]

Engendred griefe from seede of pleasures vaine,
Inforcing still the agents of my smart,
From sinnes aspect, my minde could not refraine,
For fretting lust did cynge my broyled heart,
Till loth to yeilde, yet could not choise but yeild,
When as remorce perforce did win the field.

Then of two harmes making a choise of one,
To salue my soule, I paunde my life a thrall,
And gaue consent to that which makes me moane,
Whereof proceedes the fruite of bitter gall,
Which pen'd my minde that snared in the skies,
In basest sould, where in dispaire it lies.

An abiect throwne before the face of wrath,
That dare not view what I of late enioyed,
Of new-cut grasse naught but a rotten swath,
After the raine the vertue hath destroyed,
My drooping thoughts forsake their wonted seate,
And back decline their sorrowes to repeate.

Thus feeling smart opens the new sear'd vaine,
That bled so fast till lifes blood neere is spent,
And now inclos'd in Laborinth of paine,
I still expect the Mimotavre to rent,
The bondes which doe restraine my libertie,
Clos'd in the caue of woefull miserie.

PASSION. XVIII.

[Long loathed lookes, of my forepassed life]

Long loathed lookes, of my forepassed life,
Are glutted with the sense of fond desire,
And discontent did agrauate my strife,
When hope did staie, my stamring steps t'aspire:
Being tyed by fayth my fatall fortunes woe,
To this base chaunce; I must embrace my foe.

Lo he which sometimes thought great scorne to see,
Stamp made of purest mould to frowne on him,
And thought the Queene of loue might well agree,
To taste his skill that in conceyte did swimme,
And deem'd a toy, for to deserue a smile,
Of coyest she that eu'r did man beguile.

Whose ouer-weeping wits and eake aspiring thought
Like finest lawne which wanteth not his bracke,
By fortun's spite was sodenly ou'r-raught,
And swelling sayle endur'd the greater wracke:
The greatar oake the lowder is his fall,
The higher minde th' uneasier is the thrall:

The sillie flie in spyders web inthrauld,
The more he striues the more entangled lies,
Euen so my minde that with conceyte is gauld,
No way to scape the Laborinth he spies,
The more he seekes his follies to avoyde,
The more he loues the fruite himselfe annoyde.

PASSION. XIX.

[Yf fortunes crosse be bitter to endure]

Yf fortunes crosse be bitter to endure,
That frets the minde which tasteth her despite,
The same being past, when changes new procure,
Some offer which might wearied mind delight,
But that fore-chance, his latter fate preuent,
Then will he rue the fruite of fond intent.

The freeman thinkes it small for to be bound,
Not knowing then the daunger which ensues,
But freedome lost dispaire doth straight confound,
Confused thoughts, which bring vntimely newes,
For bondage come, and libertie being lost,
What is the the thing whereof we then can boast.

Who would not seeme for to condemne his eye,
That first did lust, and heart that gaue consent,
When fruite thereof proues seede of miserie,
But more when as some kindly glaunces lent,
Yeilde constant hope if that his minde were free,
Some better happe in time obtain'd might bee.

You iudges of my heauie dolefull song,
To whose graue doomes my selfe I doe submit,
Yf worth, may not obtaine his worth; tis wrong,
Such is the fate of those which dayly flit:
Such was my chaunce to make my primer choise,
That to be free I onely might reioyce.

PASSION. XX.

[Zeale is but cold, where loue-lesse law restraines]

Zeale is but cold, where loue-lesse law restraines,
The soaring Hawke, to cease vpon his pray,
Which from the fruite of his intent refraines,
Expecting once for to behould the day:
Which being expir'd may yeilde some hope of rest,
Yf future happs may be foretould iest.

So Sibill sayd, Sinetes doubted thoe,
She did affyrme, he still did feare the worse,
She prophesied a freedome of his woe,
And he did doubt that fate would alter course:
For though on him that Fortune false did smile,
Yet sure he thought it was but to beguile.

Medea did make Aeson young againe,
She thought to gaine a daughters name therefore,
But she that doth a daughters name obtaine,
With art can not her fathers weale restore:
For bound he is, and freedome cannot sway,
Excepte that he whoe gaue doe take away.

Sweete ladies then what helpe is to be had,
That time decreede may once be expir'd,
But that meane time you doe with comforts glad,
And dayne a smile where no more is desir'd,
Yeilde poore Sinetes hope though in his graue,
That in your mindes his worthes you will ingraue.

PASSION. XXI.

[A greeu'd in graue of mindes dispayting crosse]

A greeu'd in graue of mindes dispayting crosse,
Not in the graue which cancelleth annoy,
Yf fate will not againe restore his losse,
The fatall graue, he craueth to enioy:
For fortune doth but spite, to smile againe,
When former frownes, did cut the artire vaine.

Suppose you came vnto a garden fine,
And might there choose one of the fairest flowers,
So choise being made as fancie did incline,
Yet walking there to view the fruitfull bowers,
Amongst those groues, a thowsand flowers you finde,
Then former choise better to please your minde.

Where fight is free, but handling is deni'd,
And if you touch, you may not taste the fruit,
Though neu'r so faine, least Garden-keeper spi'd,
And would ympeach your crime with blazing bruite,
How much agreeu'd would you be then in heart,
That better choise befell not to your part.

Would you not curse the rashnes of your braine,
That moued speach which could not be vnsaide,
And Fortune band which laide this subtill traine,
When you did finde how much you were betraide:
No doubt you would thinke this a heauie crosse.
Exept you myght in chosing, change your choise.

PASSION. XXII.

[Betrayed thus with lust of luring sight]

Betrayed thus with lust of luring sight,
The flower is cropt which now I may not change,
The garden's free to view what might delight.
But passed choice restraines my minde to range:
So that beholding still what I desire:
It fuell yeilds vnto the kindled fier.

The memorie of what I might obtaine.
If I were free, extenuates my ioy,
This is the roote of mine endured paine,
Though this be great, yet not my chiefe annoy,
With dayly showers, new weedes spring, and increase,
Which fruite out-growes, and future hope decrease.

Enuying fortune thrise be thou accurst,
Who not content to make me what I am,
Amongst the meane to be accounted worst,
That from one bad, vnto a worser came,
And heaped coales a new vpon my head,
To bring me home vnto my loathed bed.

Bed of disgrace, when stealing time gaue light,
Discouering the messages of fame,
Which witnes bare how deere I bought delight,
That for good will enioyed nought but blame:
And payde therefore eu'n at the deerest rate,
For had I wist doth alwaies come to late.

PASSION. XXIII.

[Ecclipsed with the blemish of disgrace]

Ecclipsed with the blemish of disgrace,
Coms Atropos the messenger of night,
And sayth I must, newe sorrowes now embrace,
Who hath in charge to cancell my delight:
Accruel doome thus to ou'rcharge my minde
Where hope dispaires true comforts fruit to finde.

Yf former cause did formall griefe applie,
And formall griefe in time encreased more,
This treble cause of woefull miserie,
Will make me yeilde to cruell fortunes lore:
That doth deuise newe tortures to encrease,
My martyrdome, the wrath-full Gods to please.

Might carcas cras'd with battring engyns noyde,
Content (the strength being scaled and defac'd,)
The cruell executioner deuoyd,
Of pitties fruite, which Iustice neu'r embrac'd:
Then Fortune would be wearied to torment,
My wracked minde, thus cloth'd with sad lament.

But sith I must endure these paines extreame,
Now let me sigh and breath this fatall doome,
For death I craue this thraldome to redeame.
If death would heare the crie of such a groome;
If not, you Gods heare now my mournfull verse,
Wherein my cares with teares I doe rehearse.

PASSION. XXIIII.

[Trembling with feare my thread-bare comfort left]

Trembling with feare my thread-bare comfort left,
To feede vppon the obiect of my smart,
And to repeat the cause which thus bereft,
The hope, the ioy, and comfort of my hart:
Sing then with me such as will mourne and moane,
Else I must sing with mourning teares alone.

For Fortunes clouded-brow doth threatnings send,
And scorning bandes a smile from stormie face,
Disdayning comforts of my cares to lend,
Intending still to keepe me in disgrace:
As seruile drudge to her commaunding will,
In cruell spights that hath a tried skill.

O sacred muse with melodie deplore,
And decke the hearse with mournfull ornaments,
Which doth to me renewed griefe restore,
And fil'd my face with sorrowes sad laments:
Whose life was deere, whose death must be my dole,
Which wringes my thoughtes, and racks my vexed soule.

You louely sweetes to whom I doe appeale,
Attire your selues in Sables with the rest,
For to assist with mone my burning zeale,
The smoke whereof hath neere my minde supprest:
In cloudie stormes it yeildeth much reliefe,
To haue a friende for to impart our griefe:

PASSION. XXV.

[Hector in time did scoure the greekish hoast]

Hector in time did scoure the greekish hoast,
And made them flee like Bees vnto the hiue,
Yet in the end his valiant minde did cost,
The price of life, when rashly he did striue.
Against such power, that rather time would yeilde;
Then force should want to vanquish him in fielde.

Braue Hercvles whome Cerbrvs might not tame,
Could not withstand the dart of destinie,
And rash attempts to gaine a worthy name,
Bringes loftie mindes to woefull miserie;
Ou'r-weening thought of a self-willed minde,
Hath made me loose, what more I cannot finde.

Braue man, braue minde, and fitte to feare the foe,
But wordes or deedes, with fate can not preuaile,
Pittie it were, life should be prised so,
For passed deedes, wordes cannot nowe auaile:
So it befell, so destinie assign'd,
They went before, and we must come behinde.

Againe I call where ayde I hope to haue,
To you I call that may my call commaunde,
Come tune your trebled notes of care I craue,
And sooth the humor of a fonde demaunde:
Yf you doe salue with comfort mine annoy,
The prayse is yours, though I the ease enioy.

PASSION. XXVI.

[VVearied with cloudes of tempest-beaten sense]

VVearied with cloudes of tempest-beaten sense,
Whole armies of reproches fill my sayle,
Marching with life, that hath but weake defence,
But in dispaire I looke not to preuaile:
For vnto me befell a worser spite,
Then any thing that yet my pen could write.

Far worse it is then what is worst of all,
Mine eye bewrayes the care I take therefore,
Th' annotomie of my accursed thrall,
The more I striue the paine encreaseth more,
For that doth make the new heal'd scar to bleede,
And woundes againe; ô would it kild with speede.

Twise launced sore the thirde time now is search'd,
The first was paine, which scant I could endure,
The second hath my crased carcas pearch'd,
The third and last did latest harme procure.
And by as much the second past the first,
Eu'n by so much, or more, the last is worst:

Three harmes in one, conspired to betray,
The guiltles thought, scant wayned from dispaire,
Scarce first had end, before the next did sway,
Third came too soone his ioyes to ympaire;
But last it was that most did vexe my minde,
Though former twayne did not come much behinde.

PASSION. XXVII.

[O pale death inexorable monster]

O pale death inexorable monster,
That seis'd vpon the remnant of my hope,
Who can thy spites with grauest wisedome conster,
That to thy selfe doest only giue a scope,
To choose the same that worst might be spared,
And doest refuse those that are prepared.

With cutting sythe why hast thou rack'd together,
The future hope of my declyning state,
And left me cut behind alone to wither,
For to bewaile the rigor of their fate?
O gentle death now let me beg and craue,
To follow them that now be clos'd in graue.

Else if I liue, let him that ruleth all,
Ioue sole commaunder both of thee, and thine,
Giue thee in charge, remembrance for to fall,
That racketh still this wracked heart of mine:
Then may I hope some rest for to enioy,
Though loaden now with burthens of annoy.

Faire choysest dames that patronize my ioy,
Now ioyne with me, in prayer to Ivpiter,
That I may die, if dying may destroy,
The liuing griefe which leades me thus to erre:
Or if I liue, let life be cloathed foe,
That new attire may banish former woe.

PASSION. XXVIII.

[Litigiovs thoughts will graunt no quiet rest]

Litigiovs thoughts will graunt no quiet rest,
For care is close intombed in my minde,
And memorie of passed woes molest,
Such as in vaine expect some ease to finde;
When ripping of the cares long past and gone,
Will make a fresh the stoutest heart to grone.

Ymprouident prosperitie is caught,
Within the net of new confused shame;
For still the vn-respectiue mindes are fraught
With heape of toye, that bring vntimely blame;
My follies first did leade me to this case,
When I began to treade the louers maze.

Vn-warie peace on fat-fed pleasures stall,
Whose wanton thought, made weake with lust & ease;
Did guide my steps to this vntimely thrall,
And destinie my sorrowes did encrease:
Being tangled thus in Labrinth of dispaire,
New-sprong effects my ioyed hope impaire.

Sing Muses, sing, the ruines of my time,
Reade in my face the Kalender of care,
With tragick notes repeate my passed crime.
My wrinckled browe records how hard I fare:
All must consume so shall my care haue ende,
When as no sap is left for life to spende.

PASSION. XXIX.

[Forc'd to endure the burthen of my charge]

Forc'd to endure the burthen of my charge,
Which loades my minde with more then I can beare,
Drench'd in dispaire, rowing 'n cares cursed barge,
I trie the foordes which dangers new doe reare:
Wherein I wade too farre for to returne,
For all in vaine against the pricke I spurne.

Against the pricke I spurne, the more I striue,
The deeper wound it makes within my minde,
For of true ioye it doth my poore heart shriue;
When feare doth leade and hope doth come behinde,
Thus like the Mer-maide pain'd, I watch deaths dome,
And recreat my selfe with glasse and come.

With glasse and combe I trifle thus the time,
Fit bables for those which are children twise,
The flood of care, late fild with mud and slime,
My swelling heart, which nowe beginns to rise,
Against her banke, and often doth rebell,
When paines extreame do pleasures sappe expell.

You handmaides which doe waite on beauties Queene.
Or rather peeres to beauties excellence,
In my distresse you which so well are seene,
For future harmes now lende your prouidence:
That though I paine, and pine eu'n to my graue,
Yet after I may hope some rest to haue.

PASSION. XXX.

[Replie and say my fortune is so base]

Replie and say my fortune is so base,
That you disdaine to lend me any ayde,
Say it is soe, such crosses to embrace,
(Amidst those stormes) I must not be afrayde,
But rather scorne, proude fortune to her face,
Which thus with spite doth worke my deepe disgrace.

Shall I now mourne for what cannot be had,
Great follie were my labour so to loose,
Nay rather seeke some comfort for to glad,
The drooping hart that knowes not what to choose:
For chaunces whose euent be desperate,
Redresse craues speede, or else it coms too late.

Too late the succour coms the fort being sackt,
And comfort, when no comfort can preuaile,
Is torture to the minde alreadie rackt,
When in th' effect true comforts fruite doth faile:
Then lend you ayde before my wracke be such,
That past recal the paines encrease too much.

Now must I sturre to catch a liuely hould,
While fortune bends her frowning brow on me,
Who cannot shift being young will neu'r be ould,
And he that striues with froward destinie:
In fortunes front must seeke a hould to finde,
Else 'twill not be: for she is balde behinde.

PASSION. XXXI.

[Eves weepe no more, hart breath no sighing sobs]

Eves weepe no more, hart breath no sighing sobs,
Cease to repeate ô quill thy maisters griefe,
The theefe is knowne which hope of quiet robs:
And courage must (not weakenes) gaine reliefe;
Leaue of to moane, with Fortune be content,
No ease is found by this thy sad lament.

Teares cannot quench the heate of kindled fier.
Nor sighing sobs restore thy former state,
Pen cannot write the accents of desire,
Nor courage quaile the force of frowning fate:
Yeilding cannot helpe, force cannot preuaile,
Against the stormie windes no ship can saile.

Enuye not Death, he claymeth but his due,
Fortune cannot her crabbed nature leaue,
Why doest thou then these sighing sobs renewe,
And fate reuile that did thy hope deceaue?
Now debts are payde, call home thy wits againe,
Desire not that which thou shalt wish in vaine.

Thus rest content with this thy fatall chaunce,
For that will checke thy angry fortunes pride,
With enuies pipe that leades a scornefull daunce,
And with disdaine thy sorrowes doth deride:
With patience thou mayst ou'rcome at length,
And more then this repose no trust in strength.

PASSION. XXXII.

[Svppose deere Dames you giue me such aduise]

Svppose deere Dames you giue me such aduise,
This cannot please the humor of my minde,
For flesh is fraile, and cannot thus dispise,
The thinge whereto our nature is inclin'd:
Nurture may striue, but nature must preuaile:
Well may I trie, yet shall not misse to faile.

What if I should endeauour to intreat,
Fortune no doubt would heare my carefull crie,
Sweete Fortune then giue care I will repeate,
The totall some of this my miserie:
I want my will, I would what may not be,
Vnlesse thou doest yeilde some reliefe to me.

I seeke no more but quiet to enioy,
Yeilde me my right, and that is all I craue,
Not to dispease I doe my minde imploy,
(With chastest thought) but comforts fruite to haue,
I seeke and sue not to a Goddesse blinde,
But vnto thee in hope some ease to finde.

Some one will reade that knoweth mine intent,
Let such but pause and canuas my desart,
And pittie him which thus his youth hath spent.
Then zealous thought of honour set apart:
Giue all their due and staine not vertues name,
With trifling trash that bringeth but defame.

PASSION. XXXIII.

[The fit is come, my trembling flesh doth feare]

The fit is come, my trembling flesh doth feare,
These idle toyes fore-runners of my griefe,
Prognosticate what torment I must beare,
I see me thinkes the agents of reliefe,
Repulst by force of the tormentors hand,
Seeking in vaine his strength for to withstand.

Yeild then I must vnto the cursed stroke,
That shall weare out the remnant of my dayes,
And be content to beare the seruile yoke,
Which sorrowes charge from sorrowes store defrayes:
For being enroul'd within the booke of woe,
I must not scorne for to embrace my foe.

And for my follies which sometimes yeild ease,
To cleere the smoke of cloudie Athos fier,
Their force cannot my fettered thoughts release,
But rather doe encerease my fond desire:
And as Acteons dogs, spar'd not their Lord,
To hunt me from my rest, so they accord.

O harsh accord of woefull harmonie,
That naught can tune but solemne notes of care,
Wherein is crost the fruite of charitie,
Whereof I want (to salue my griefes) a share,
Then past redresse, I must remaine content,
To cherish that which frowning fortune sent.

PASSION, XXXIIII.

[O Heau'ns recorde the somme of my request]

O Heau'ns recorde the somme of my request,
Confesse I seeke nothing but what is iust,
Some ease of that which doth my minde molest,
Eare all my hope be buried in the dust:
Ye angrie stars let my submission pay,
The ransome of my captiue hartes decay.

Tis not obscure that I long pennance bore,
To purge the guilt of my fore-passed crime,
Let tribute paide, make euen with the score,
Which in Fates booke care crost of auntient time:
Then doubtles I some comfort shall obtaine,
Though Fortune doe my sacrifice disdaine.

Yet let me yeild, it booteth not to striue,
Of force I must giue place to higher powers,
Too weake I am, for such as me corriue,
Without I might raine downe some Golden showers:
So Danae no doubt I might enioye,
To beare a sonne his Graund-sier to destroy.

Haue I forgot my Ladies yet to moue,
Whose sole applause may pleade their sheapheards woe,
Tis you alone that shall my deedes approue,
For like the weedes, that fairest flowers out-grow,
My cares ou'r-spread the relique of my ioye,
And fatall feare did fadeing hope destroye.

PASSION. XXXV.

[Neptvne the wrathfull Eolvs appease]

Neptvne the wrathfull Eolvs appease,
Call Triton foorth to summon a retreyte,
Of raging stormes, which doe my rest disease,
How they beyond their limmits past repeate:
And though Eolvs may the windes encrease,
Yet tell them this, thou canst commaund the seas.

Iove prince of all, stop greedie fortunes iawees,
Send Mercvrie for to edict thy will,
And let her knowe she hath transgres'd thy lawes:
Which all the Gods are subiect to fulfill:
For though she spite and spend her bitter gall,
Giue her to knowe, that thou commaundest all.

What though she may wring poore Sinetes minde,
The same to heale thou hast a salue in store,
Send patience to checke this Goddesse is blinde,
For all in vaine these sorrowes I deplore:
When hope is drown'd in slymie sudds of care,
And patient lies fast in furies snare.

The raging force of agues burning fits,
(With potions cold) doth yeilde at last to cure,
Eche thing extreame in time decreasing flits;
And patient may best my ease procure:
The sound (though weake) by foode recouer'th strength,
So may my sores obtaine some salue at length.

PASSION. XXXVI.

[Repyning fretts and sturs the angrie minde]

Repyning fretts and sturs the angrie minde,
That patience (which is the nursing foode,)
In such extreames, can no disgestion finde;
No more then meate encreaseth sick-mens blood:
The one by course to choller altereth faste,
The other turn'd to excrements doth waste.

Who so by art would cure infected mindes,
Must mildely first prepare the sickly thought,
When faulkner good a sorrie feather findes.
He first beginns to pare and prune the naught:
And better graffes; then keepes his hauke on fiste,
My troubled minde of such a salue hath miste.

For first we should learne to forget the cause,
Before a salue may be thereto applyed,
Then may the gulfe which waytes with open iawes;
For to deuoure therewith be satisfied:
And this obseru'd roote perisheth in time,
Which fed the cause the subiects of my rime.

Who hath such strength to moderate extreames,
That without change his countenance may beare,
When that doth perish which he well esteemes;
Which sodenly procures a dreadfull feare:
No heart so hard for to endure the same,
Who then is he that can my weaknes blame.

PASSION. XXXVII.

[Oft haue I sightht, and to my selfe thus sayde]

Oft haue I sightht, and to my selfe thus sayde,
O poore vnhappie relique left to paine,
Thus wrong'd by death which hath my death delayed
Whose eares thou filst, with prayers though in vaine:
Leaue to intreate the fiend that forst to fall,
And doth triumph thus glutted with thy thrall.

Seest not that time cannot so long endure,
But that thou must needes haue some speedy end,
Of that which doth thy sorrowes thus procure,
What needeth then thy breath in vaine to spend:
For date of time which shortly wastes away,
Being once expir'd, thy sorrowes must decay.

The greatest fier Pirackmon sendeth forth,
Will soone be quench'd, when matter none is left,
And here we see that men of greatest worth,
When sap is gone, will soone of breath bereft:
Why should I thinke death would my time delay,
Syth that which feedeth life doth fade away.

Nothing so hard but time at last doth weare,
Naught wanteth rest but will consume in fine,
How can my heart which doth my sorrowes beare,
Chuse but with speede consume away and pine,
Death will at last stretch out his angrie arme,
Inforst by time, to end my endlesse harme.

PASSION, XXXVIII.

[Bowes not my body with the force of age]

Bowes not my body with the force of age,
Ys not the skyn far wyder then my face,
And flesh consum'd by force of wrathfull age,
What doe not siluer hayres yeilde goodly grace:
And be not these the kalendars of time,
Which witnes that in cares I spend my prime.

Were none of thēse my blood still waxeth could,
And I doe feele a weakenes in my minde,
Feare dispossest my wonted courage bould.
Dimnes of thought doth make my senses blinde:
Benomn'd I am in euerie part at length,
That cleane I lost the force of former strength.

These tokens shew my paine not long shall last,
Nor I (thoughe steele) be able to endure,
These torments, which encrease the surging blast,
Then let me not my greater harmes procure:
By fearing paine more then the force of paine,
Which feeble strength could not in me refraine.

Should I suppose I could exceede the dayes,
Which are layde downe to finish all my cares,
And doth encrease the cause which hope delayes,
Then let me yeilde, to him that still prepares:
A salue, to such as call to him for ayde,
And to abide the brunt are neu'r dismayde.

PASSION, XXXIX.

[Estranged from the fruite of quiete rest]

Estranged from the fruite of quiete rest,
How can I choose but waste, and weare away,
Whose accents new with feeling force molest
The troubled thoughts which carefull minde dismay:
Who would the some of sorrowes all display,
Within my life let him the same suruay.

Some one repeates, he roules the restles stone
With Sisiphvs: an other Tantals payne
Doth beare: the third is rack'd with Ixion:
And others do like Titivs complayne:
But yet the worst of their accurst annoyes,
Eu'n is the best and chiefest of my ioyes.

Walke I abroad to meete some companie,
For to remoue these cursed cares away,
Eche man I meet, a mappe of miserie
Presents, to worke my ruine and decay:
His humor stor'd with pleasure and delight,
Vnto my minde new cares effect inuite.

And as in stormes copartners yeild content,
And maketh lesse the burthen of the minde,
Eu'n so a man in seas of sorowes spent,
And knowes not where a mate therein to finde,
Must needs endure the torment all alone,
When to the winde he makes his ruthles moane:

PASSION. XL.

[Rest I at home, remembrance rackes my minde]

Rest I at home, remembrance rackes my minde,
The obiect which doth feede my hungrie thought,
For nothing there remaynes for me to finde,
But euen the sound which I haue deerely bought,
Repentance, purchas'd with hastie brayne,
Which stores my mind with heapes of loath'd disdayne.

For idle heads build castles in the ayre,
And being alone am I there where I am?
No sure I view full many a countrey fayre,
And forren thoughts doe feede my fancies flame,
Eu'n thus I weare and waste away the time,
Declining when I haue most minde to clime.

The day expir'd, the nights approch supplies,
Where dreames with feare preuert my quiet rest,
And Morphevs a sopor sweete demes,
Which after toyle should be my mornings feast.
Sometimes I bathe my carefull couch with teares,
From soundest sleepe, a wak'd with starting feares.

I turne and tosse: for Bodies ease is scant
When minde is fraught with burthens of annoy,
And cares my ioyes with spreding bows supplant,
Dispayre doth hope with vglie face destroy.
Thus discontents plant accentes of my griefe,
Which do suppresse the agents of reliefe.

PASSION. XLI.

[Time draweth on to frustrate my desires]

Time draweth on to frustrate my desires,
Which vent will giue to my abortiue cares,
For to burst foorth to cruell flaming fiers,
Which wastes my life, fast fettred in the snares:
Of discontents, and then shall cease to moane,
When matter wantes for griefe to feede vpon.

Yeilde then content till sorrowes wearied be,
Let them complaine what toyle they doe endure,
Both day and night in persecuting thee,
Then they will cease thy torments to procure;
And for to reape vnto themselues some ease,
Thy will consent thy bondage to release.

Then shall the heau'ns confesse they did thee wrong,
And earth possest with such a tyrannie,
Shall curse the seedes, whereof thy woes are sprong,
All moaning thus thy woefull miserie:
O man thus borne in spite of angrie starrs,
Whose selfe-conceyte worke to him deadly warrs.

Could all the Gods being ioin'd in one consent,
Frame such a one which art no time could cure,
Though Satvrne had some crooked nature lent,
Thinges of such force but sieldome are in vre:
And though they be yet cannot much preuaile,
Yf fate giue place vnto our swelling sayle.

PASSION. XLII.

[Plant seated in a loose vnstable soyle]

Plant seated in a loose vnstable soyle,
Know'st not the state of this deceiuing time,
Howe cruell Fate returne with world of spoyle,
After the sacke of a most fertile clime:
What doth earth hould? or sea or ayre contayue,
But a congealed heape or errors vaine.

Our dayes doe moue like shadowes on the wall,
What doth not moue like shadowes light effect?
Howers flie full fast to bring vs vnto thrall,
What doth not flie like shortest howers aspect:
Waues dos ou'r-flowe the sandes that be so wide,
What doth not swell as doth the flowing tyde.

The fruites made ripe by force of hastie time,
Doe soonest fade the blossome being decayed,
And as the flowing waues swell in their prime,
So flies it fast like shadowes forme display'd,
The day is full of labore paynefull toyle,
The day is full of dolors deadly spoyle.

Pale death doth knocke eu'n at thy princely gate:
With like demaunde, as at the cottage poore,
Doth pale death knocke with iust demaund; no hate,
Ingraf'd with wrong, to these extreames do sture:
For he destroyes as well Captayne boulde,
As poorest wretch fram'd of this earthly moulde.

PASSION. XLIII.

[Arm'd to offend death maketh choyse of none]

Arm'd to offend death maketh choyse of none,
Nor difference to worke his sauage will,
But all alike none by himselfe is gone,
Vnto the pot, his hungrie mawe to fill:
One house of death is common vnto all,
One lawe of death doeth gouerne great and small.

Flowers, grasse, mist; doth fall. doth wither, doth fade,
With winde in time, to th' aire. flowers, grasse, & mist we be,
For here being sent to dig, and delue with spade;
Our workes bring foorth the fruite of miserie:
As flowers fall, grasse wither, mist fades away,
So doth our daies, fall, wither and decay.

What thinge so sure but falleth at the last,
Or what so firme but ruinates in time,
Who is so wise that can endure the blast?
Which doth forbid the hastie for to clime:
Of thinges that shalbe dust let no man store,
Dust we shalbe, and dust we weare before.

Yf choyse be made, or difference take place,
Eu'n with that choyce death waxeth more vnmil'd,
The fairest flowers fall soonest to disgrace;
And worser thinges scape often vndefil'd.
So many bad doe daies enioye,
When dint of death doe better sort destroye,

PASSION. XLIIII.

[Rested by choyse our dayes we finish here]

Rested by choyse our dayes we finish here,
And Iove himselfe the hoyse thereof hath made,
Being lou'd we die, Iove lou's as doth appeere:
By motions which errors doe inuade,
So those whom Iove with princely care doth loue,
Them he doth chase his Godhead to approue.

O happie man of whom Iove made a choyse,
O happie man whom Ivpiter doth loue,
Whom Iove accepts he onely may reioyce,
Whom Iove takes to himselfe he doth reproue:
Yf chosen thus, and loued so by Iove,
Or though reprou'd, why should we fafnt in loue.

He onely shall the flaming wals enioy,
That gardes the thorne of Ioves imperiall seate,
And shall behould that prince which may destroy,
Phebvs bright beams which feedeth vs with heate,
No sorrowes then, nor griefe shall him molest,
Being lath'd by Iove vnto his heau'nly feast,

So shall he rest amongst the chiefest starrs,
There a new star plac'd for to yeilde vs light,
And by his death shall end these terren warrs,
And life a newe begyn to leade vpright;
And shall no more behould the theater,
Where tragick eu'll leade mortall men to erre.

PASSION. XLV.

[Restes any thing more lighter then a haire]

Restes any thing more lighter then a haire,
No haire but doth Ioves godhead high reproue.
What is more light then birds which sparrowes rere,
Yet sparrowes witnes that there is a Iove:
Is any thing of greater weight then life,
And shall life passe in mistie cloudes of strife?

Yt may not be that I should so beleeue,
Life comes to vs eu'n by the heu'ns decree,
To such conceyt I may no credit giue,
Life flies away by dynt of destinye,
Life we possesse by force of Ioves commaund,
Life we must yeild, if Ivpiter demaund.

For borne we are, and die we stalbe sure,
Because we are of purpose borne to die,
But not content with our estates vnsure,
Nor pleased yet death should our patience trie:
Iove did commaund, and death obayes his will,
So let it rest Ioves doome for to fulfill.

Iove did commaund, which must not be gain-said,
He spake the word, and all did yeild consent,
He made a beck, and roaring seas obayed,
Then with our states why are we not content?
He wills vs from these worldly cares refrayne,
And his edict must eu'r and eu'r remayne.

PASSION. XLVI.

[Yf this be thus? then farewell all my ioy]

Yf this be thus? then farewell all my ioy,
Which I possest before these cares encroc'hd,
Iove made a choyse, death did his choise destroy,
O would that death had vnto me approch'd:
More welcome sure had been his deadly dart,
Then these annoyes which breede encreasing smart.

Farewell my ioy, I doe renounce thy smile,
I hate the thing which cause of ioy may yeild,
Least fayned hope should certaine Fate beguyle,
Despaire hath wonne the honor of the field,
My loue, my life, my ioy is gone before,
Death may alone my hope of ease restore.

Then as the faithfull which embrace the toole,
And kisse the same, which life doth take away,
Who well were taught in high Iehovas schoole.
That beares the bag of simple truth alway:
So will I clippe and kisse this world of paine,
Which Ioue hath sent to coole my wandring braine.

Embracing death and loathing lifes repose,
I rest content and watch the happie time,
I seeke not now to triumphe ou'r my foes,
Yet heere would faine end both my life and rime:
But that I vowed eu'r as your sheapheard true,
With hand and hart to serue and honour you.