[A sweet Nosgay, Or pleasant Posye contayning a hundred and ten Phylosophicall Flowers] [by Isabella Whitney] |
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An answer to comfort her, by shewyng his haps to be harder.
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 | [A sweet Nosgay, Or pleasant Posye |  |
An answer to comfort her, by shewyng his haps to be harder.
Friend IS. be now content, & let my sorowes quel:the extreame rage, & care thou restest in:
For wayling sprights, ne furies fearce in hell:
nor grisley soules, that styll in woe haue bin:
Haue euer felt lyke stormes that I sustayne,
fro wust so I am, and duld in deepe dispaire,
That sure (mee thinks), my extreme raging payne:
might gaine thee helth: & set thee free from fere.
For DIDO, thou, and many thousands more,
which liuing feele the panges of extreme care,
Though tottered much; and torne in peeces smal:
whom euer griping death doth neuer spare.
Nor he, that falsey, Carthage Citie fled,
so fraught with wiles, nor ye such sorowes tast:
By thousand partes, as I who rightly sed:
do pine as VVAX, before the fire wastes.
I freece to YCE, I heate with perching SON,
and torne with teene, thus languishing in paine,
Doo feele my sorowes euer fresher run:
to flowing cares, that endles sorowes gaine.
For what, for whom, and why this euyll woorks
frind IS. VV, time, nor silence, may it show
But once ere many dayes, my care that lurks,
shall blowne be, and thou the same shalt know.
and rip no more, thy wronges in such excesse:
Thy FORTVNE rather, wills thee to lament,
with speedy wit, til hope may haue redressè.
FINIS.
T. B.
| [A sweet Nosgay, Or pleasant Posye | |