University of Virginia Library

Of wayling, and not preuailing.

I waylyng ,
Yet not preuailing,
In sorrow sayling,
alas, I mourne:
Such is the spight
To dimme delight
In me poore wight,
almost forlorne.
But God of grace
Graunt me solace
Within short space,
to ease my griefe:
And send release
Where woes increase,
I cannot cease
to craue reliefe.
For if the heart
Feeles inward smart
Without Desert
Death it desires:
The griefe of minde
Much woe doth finde
Their life resign'd,
So some requires.