The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania | ||
12.
Cloy'd with the torments of a tedious night,
I wish for day; which come, I hope for ioy:
When crosse I finde, new tortures to destroy,
My woe-kild heart, first hurt by mischiefes might.
I wish for day; which come, I hope for ioy:
When crosse I finde, new tortures to destroy,
My woe-kild heart, first hurt by mischiefes might.
Then crye for night, and once more day takes flight.
And brightnesse gone, what rest should heere inioy
Vsurped is: Hate will her force imploy;
Night cannot Griefe intombe though blacke as spite.
And brightnesse gone, what rest should heere inioy
Vsurped is: Hate will her force imploy;
Night cannot Griefe intombe though blacke as spite.
7
My thoughts are sad, her face as sad doth seeme;
My paines are long, her howers tedious are;
My griefe is great, and endlesse is my care;
Her face, her force, and all of woes esteeme.
Then welcome Night, and farewell flattering day,
Which all hopes breed, and yet our ioyes delay.
My paines are long, her howers tedious are;
My griefe is great, and endlesse is my care;
Her face, her force, and all of woes esteeme.
Then welcome Night, and farewell flattering day,
Which all hopes breed, and yet our ioyes delay.
The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania | ||