 | The plays & poems of Robert Greene |  |
LXIII
FRANCESCOES SONNET, MADE IN THE PRIME OF HIS PENAVNCE.
With sweating browes I long haue plowde the sandes:
My seede was youth, my croppe was endlesse care:
Repent hath sent me home with emptie hands
At last, to tell how rife our follies are:
And time hath left experience to approue:
The gaine is griefe to those that traffique loue.
The silent thoughts of my repentant yeeres
That fill my head, haue cald me home at last:
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Begot by guilefull thought with ouer hast,
In prime of youth a rose, in age a weede,
That for a minutes ioye payes endlesse neede.
Dead to delights, a foe to fond conceipt,
Allied to wit by want, and sorrow bought:
Farewell fond youth, long fostred in deceipt:
Forgiue me Time disguisd idle thought.
And Loue adew, loe hasting to mine ende;
I finde no time too late for to amend.
| The plays & poems of Robert Greene | |