XI.
[O Goulden bird and Phenix of our age]
In this sonnet is couertly set forth, how pleasaunt a
passiō the Author one day enioyed, whē by chance
he ouerharde his mistris, whilst she was singinge
priuately by her selfe: And sone after into howe
sorrowfull a dumpe, or sounden extasie he fell,
when vpon the first sight of him she abruptlie finished
her song and melodie.
O Goulden
bird and Phenix of our age,
whose sweete records and more thē earthly voice
By wondrous force did then my griefe asswage
When nothing els could make my heart reioyce,
Thy teunes (no doubt) had made a later end,
If thou hadst knowē how much they stood my frēd.
When silence dround the latter warbling neate,
A sudden greife eclypst my former ioye,
My life it selfe in calling Carons boate
Did sigh, and say, that pleasure brought anoy;
And blam'd mine eare for listning to the sound
Of such a songe, as had increast my wound.
My heauie heart remembring what was past
Did sorrowe more then any tounge can tell;
As did the damned soules that stoode agast,
when Orpheus with his wife return'd from hell:
Yet who would think, that Musike which is swete,
In curing paines could cause delites to fleete?
