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Chorus.
 5. 

Chorus.

A comfort is to mans calamity
A dolefull flocke of felowes in distres.
And sweete to him that mournes in miserie
To here them wayle whom sorowes like oppres
In deepest care his griefe him bites the les,
That his estate bewayles not all alone,
But seeth with him the teares of many one.
For still it is the chiefe delight in woe,
And ioy of them that sonke in sorrowes are,
To see like fates by fall to many moe,
That may take part of all their wofull fare,
And not alone to be opprest with care.
There is no wight of woe that doth complayne,
When all the rest do like mischaunce sustayne.
In all this world if happy man were none,
None (though he were) would thinke himselfe a wretch.
Let once the ritch with heapes of Gold be gone,
Whose hundred head his pastours ouerretch,
Then would the poore mans hart begin to stretch.
There is no wretch whose life him doth displease,
But in respect of those that liue at ease.


Sweete is to him that standes in deepe distresse,
To see no man in ioyful plight to bee,
Whose onely vessel wind and waue oppresse,
Ful sore his chaunce bewayles and weepeth hee,
That with his owne none others wracke doth see
When he alone makes shipwracke one the sand,
And naked falles to long desyred land.
A thousande sayle who seeth to drench in Seas,
With better will the storme hath ouerpast
His heauy hap doth him the lesse displease
When broaken boardes abroade be many cast,
And shipwrackt shippes to shore they flit ful fast,
With doubled waues when stopped is the floud,
With heaps of them that there haue lost theyr good.
Ful sore did Pirrhus Helens losse complayne,
What time the leader of his flocke of shepe,
Vppon his backe alone he bare them twayne,
And wet his Golden lockes amid the deepe,
In piteous playnt (alas) he gan to weepe.
The death of her it did him deepe displease,
That shipwracke made amid the drenching seas.
And piteous was the playnt and heauy moode
Of woful Pyrrha and eke Deucalion
That nought beheld aboute them but the flould,
When they of all mankynd were left alone
Amid the seas ful sore they made their mone
To see themselues thus left aliue in woe
When neyther land they saw, nor fellowes moe.
Anone these playnts and Troyans teares shall quaile,
And here and there the ship them tosse by seas:
When trompets sound shal warne to hoyse vp sayle,
And through the waues with wind to seeke their waies

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Then shall these captiues goe to ende their dayes
In land vnknowne: when once with hasty ore
The drenching deepe they take and shunne the shore.
What state of mynd shal then in wretches bee?
When shore shall sinke from sight and seas aryse?
When Idey hill to lurke aloofe they see?
Then poynt with hand from farre wher Troia lies,
Shall child and mother: talking in this wyse:
Loe yonder Troy, where smoke it fumeth hie,
By this the Troyans shal their countrey spie.