The Works of William Fowler Secretary to Queen Anne, Wife of James VI. Edited with introduction, appendix, notes and glossary by Henry W. Meikle |
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 | The Works of William Fowler |  |
367
XXIV. ELIGYE.
Away from me ye plaintes & cryes
That all these comon louers frame;
No plainte may thoght of man devyse
That can vnfolde my secret flame.
The floodes sone fleit away
that haue no staye;
Who can his woes declare
he knowes no kynde of care;
but smuldred fyre, ye wote,
dothe burne moste hote;
So he that hydes his greife
Is martred with mischeife.
That all these comon louers frame;
No plainte may thoght of man devyse
That can vnfolde my secret flame.
The floodes sone fleit away
that haue no staye;
Who can his woes declare
he knowes no kynde of care;
but smuldred fyre, ye wote,
dothe burne moste hote;
So he that hydes his greife
Is martred with mischeife.
When I would showe one of the woes
Of many a thousand that I haue,
The sighs & sobbs my spreit so close
That no way can I mercye crave;
then leavs the blood my vaynes,
the teares downe raynes,
In feruent fyre I fleit,
in snowe I swelt with sweit;
The thinge that dothe me greve
should me releive;
dispairinge of all rewth
I murder vp my truthe.
Of many a thousand that I haue,
The sighs & sobbs my spreit so close
That no way can I mercye crave;
then leavs the blood my vaynes,
the teares downe raynes,
In feruent fyre I fleit,
in snowe I swelt with sweit;
The thinge that dothe me greve
should me releive;
dispairinge of all rewth
I murder vp my truthe.
Suche is my chance, suche is my lyffe,
So loue rewardes his seruantes trewe;
He bringes me with my self at stryfe,
And for anothers peace to sewe;
My hope dothe me deceaue,
no hap I haue.
What fury deip in hell
can halfe these tormentes tell?
A hart of hardest stone
would seme to mone
to see me in suche woes
as thoght cannot disclose.
So loue rewardes his seruantes trewe;
He bringes me with my self at stryfe,
And for anothers peace to sewe;
My hope dothe me deceaue,
no hap I haue.
368
can halfe these tormentes tell?
A hart of hardest stone
would seme to mone
to see me in suche woes
as thoght cannot disclose.
O come, ye cruell sisters three,
That first my fatall threid did twyne!
What happie hand shall close myne eye,
Or wynde this carefull corps of myne?
O sing my deargy hear,
and bringe my beare!
Some wailfull wight, allas!
Ingraue in stone or brasse
This Epitaph in vearse
Vppon my hearse:
“heare lythe the truthe in grounde,
whose trewthe no rewthe yet found.”
That first my fatall threid did twyne!
What happie hand shall close myne eye,
Or wynde this carefull corps of myne?
O sing my deargy hear,
and bringe my beare!
Some wailfull wight, allas!
Ingraue in stone or brasse
This Epitaph in vearse
Vppon my hearse:
“heare lythe the truthe in grounde,
whose trewthe no rewthe yet found.”
Finis.
| The Works of William Fowler | |