The Arbor of Amitie wherin is comprised pleasant Pohems and pretie Poesies, set foorth by Thomas Howell |
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The louer forsaken, bewayleth his estate.
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 | The Arbor of Amitie |  |
The louer forsaken, bewayleth his estate.
O Drooping hart deprest with deadly care,
whose stretched strings be crackt in peeces smal:
Thy secret sighes thy panting oft declare,
What heauie hap in wo to thee did fall:
Now crie thou clapt in chaines as captiue thrall,
What hart can ioy alas in miserie,
To beare the blasts, that well he would not see?
whose stretched strings be crackt in peeces smal:
Thy secret sighes thy panting oft declare,
What heauie hap in wo to thee did fall:
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What hart can ioy alas in miserie,
To beare the blasts, that well he would not see?
The burdened Asse doth know his crib by course,
The yoked Ore doth smell his strawie stall:
The ridden horse the maunger giues remorse,
But my poore hart no salue may heale at all.
Whome furious force aye threatneth fearce to fall.
What shall I say, the time eche truth shall trie:
Till then I waile my woe with weeping eie.
The yoked Ore doth smell his strawie stall:
The ridden horse the maunger giues remorse,
But my poore hart no salue may heale at all.
Whome furious force aye threatneth fearce to fall.
What shall I say, the time eche truth shall trie:
Till then I waile my woe with weeping eie.
Down deepe doth droope my dread most dolorous.
O hart dispatch to ende my hidden paine:
Shall good for harme be had in credite thus,
Eche honest minde with ratling rage to straine?
Then farewell ioy, welcome my woes againe,
O what a woe is this in griefe to grone,
And waile the want, where helpe I see is none.
O hart dispatch to ende my hidden paine:
Shall good for harme be had in credite thus,
Eche honest minde with ratling rage to straine?
Then farewell ioy, welcome my woes againe,
O what a woe is this in griefe to grone,
And waile the want, where helpe I see is none.
| The Arbor of Amitie | |