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Epitaphes, Epigrams, Songs and Sonets

with a Discourse of the Friendly affections of Tymetes to Pyndara his Ladie. Newly corrected with additions, and set out by George Turbervile
 

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That all things haue release of paine saue the Louer, that hoping and dreading neuer taketh ease.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

That all things haue release of paine saue the Louer, that hoping and dreading neuer taketh ease.

What so the Golden Sunne
beholdes with blazing light,
When paine is past hath time to take
his comfort and delight.
The Oxe with lumpish pace
and leasure that doth drawe,

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Hath respite after toyle is past
to fill his emptie mawe.
The lolearde Asse that beares
the burden on his back.
His dutie done to stable plods,
and reacheth to the rack.
The Deere hath woonted soyle
his feruent heate to swage:
When woorke hath ende to respite runnes
the Peasant and the Page.
The Owle that hates the day
and loues to flee by night,
Hath queachie bushes to defende
him from Apollos sight.
Eche Cunnie hath a Caue,
eche little Foule a Nest
To shrowde them in at needefull times
to take their needefull rest.
Thus vewing course of kinde
it is not on the grounde,
That at some time doth not resort
where is his comfort founde:
Saue me (O cursed man)
whome neither Sunne ne shade
Doth serue the burthen of my breast
and sorrowes to vnlade.
Eche sport porcures my smart,
eche seemely sight annoy:

[40]

Eche pleasant tune torments mine ease
and reaues my hoped ioy.
No Musick soundes so sweete
as doth the doolefull Drum,
For somewhat neare vnto my smart
that mournefull sounde doth cum.
A Gally slaue I seeme
vnto my selfe to bee:
The Mayster that doth guide the ship
hath neare an eie to see.
You know where such a one
as Cupid is doth steare,
Amid the Goulfe of deepe dispaire
great perill must appeare.
In steade of streaming sayles
hee Wisshes hanges aloft:
Which if in tempest chaunce to teare
the Barck will come to nought.
For winde are scalding sighes
and secret sobbings prest:
Mixt with a cloude of stormie teares
to baine the Louers brest.
Though Cupid neare so well
his beaten Barck doe guie,
By fleeing flats and sinking sandes
that in the wallow lie:
Yet those that are a boorde
must euer stande in awe,

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For cause a Bussard is their guide
not forcing any flawe:
That followes none aduice,
but bluntly runnes on hed,
As proude as Peacock ouer those
that in his chaine or led.
Thus may you plainely see
that eche thing hath release
Of pensiue paine, saue Cupids thralls
whose torments aye increase.