 | Fidessa |  |
SONNET. XXXII.
[Sore sicke of late, Nature her due would haue]
Sore sicke of late, Nature her due would haue,Great was my paine where still my mind did rest:
No hope but heauen, no comfort but my graue,
Which is of comforts both the last and least.
But on a sudden th'almightie sent
Sweet ease to the distresse and comfortlesse,
And gaue me longer time for to repent,
With health and strength the foes of feeblenes.
Yet I my health no sooner gan recouer,
But my old thoughts (though ful of cares) retained,
Made me (as erst) become a wretched louer
Of her, that loue and louers aye disdained.
Then was my paine with ease of paine increased,
And I nere sicke vntill my sicknes ceased.
| Fidessa | |