University of Virginia Library

I see there is no sort

That all thing sometime finde ease of their paine, saue onely the louer.

I See there is no sort,
Of thinges that liue in griefe:
Which at sometime may not resort,
Wheras they haue reliefe.
The striken dere by kinde,
Of death that standes in awe:
For his recure an herbe can finde,
The arrow to withdrawe.
The chased dere hath soile,
To coole him in his het:
The asse after his wery toyle,
In stable is vp set.
The conye hath his caue,
The little birde his nest:
From heate and colde them selues to saue,
At all times as they lyst.
The owle with feble sight,
Lieth lurkyng in the leaues:
The sparrow in the frosty nyght,
May shroude her in the eaues.
But wo to me alas,
In sunne nor yet in shade.
I can not finde a restyng place,
My burden to vnlade.
But day by day still beares,
The burden on my backe:
With wepyng eyen and watry teares,
To holde my hope abacke.
All thinges I see haue place,
Wherin they bowe or bende:
Saue this alas my wofull case,
Which no where findeth ende.