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Sonnet XV.
[No sooner leaues Hyperion Thetis bed]
No sooner leaues Hyperion Thetis bed,and mounts his coach to post from thence away,
Richly adorning faire Leucotheas head,
gyuing to mountaynes tincture from his ray:
But straight I rise, where I could find no rest,
where visions and fantasies appeare,
And when with small adoo my body's drest;
abroad I walke to thinke vpon my deere;
VVhere vnder vmbrage of some aged Tree,
with Lute in hand I sit and (sighing) say,
Sweete Groues tell forth with Eccho what you see:
good Trees beare witnes who is my decay,
And thou my soule, speake, speake, what rest I haue,
When each our ioyes dispayre doth make me raue.
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