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 I. 
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 IIII. 
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 XIIII. 
PASSION. XIIII.
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 XXIIII. 
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 XLIIII. 
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PASSION. XIIII.

[Harpies, and hagges, torment my fearefull gost]

Harpies, and hagges, torment my fearefull gost,
No part is freed, from horror, and despaire,
My carcas thus in Carons boate is tost,
Medvsa doth with cursed snakie hayre,
Trans-natue quite, the vertue of my minde,
Vnto a stone, that is deaffe, dumme, and blinde.
Might but my soule enioye the fruite of rest,
And purge the sting, that wrought my bitter bane,
That hope mihht once my desp'rat minde inuest,
And strenngth encrease, to bannish thoughts profane:
Then would I ioy to see such happie day,
That once I might be freed from decay.
Sure I beleeue, thongh ioy could bannish care,
And that I might possesse a quiet minde,
And should winde out my selfe from sorrowes snare.
To cleanse my thoughts from fruites of errors blinde:
Yet would remembraunce of my passed paine.
Where griefe I left, force to begyn againe.
Then were my case far worser then before,
For vlcers cut yeilde corosiues extreame,
Salues hardly can, the former health restore,
And naught but death can tortur'd mindes redeeme:
Then must I rest contented with my lot,
Sith sorrowes now can not dissolue the knot.