III.[_]
The attribution of this poem is questionable.
[No grave for woe, yet earth my watrie teares devoures]
No grave for woe, yet earth my watrie teares devoures;
Sighes want ayre, and burnt desires kind pitties showres:
Stars hold their fatal course, my joies preventing:
The earth, the sea, the aire, the fire, the heav'ns vow my tormenting.
Yet still I live, and waste my wearie daies in grones,
And with wofull tunes adorne dispayring mones.
Night still prepares a more displeasing morrow;
My day is night, my life my death, and all but sence of sorrow.