A gorgious Gallery, of gallant Inuentions Garnished and decked with diuers dayntie deuises, right delicate and delightfull, to recreate eche modest minde withall. First framed and fashioned in sundrie formes, by diuers worthy workemen of late dayes: and now, ioyned together and builded up: By T. P. [i.e. Thomas Procter] |
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The Louer beeing ouermuch weryed with seruile
lyfe, compareth it to a Laborinth.
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 | A gorgious Gallery, of gallant Inuentions |  |
The Louer beeing ouermuch weryed with seruile lyfe, compareth it to a Laborinth.
With
speedy winges, my fethered woes pursues,
My wretched life, made olde by weary dayes:
But as the fire of Ethna stil renues,
And breedes as much, by flame as it decayes:
My heauy cares, that once I thought would ende mee,
Prolongs my life, the more mishap to lende mee.
My wretched life, made olde by weary dayes:
But as the fire of Ethna stil renues,
And breedes as much, by flame as it decayes:
My heauy cares, that once I thought would ende mee,
Prolongs my life, the more mishap to lende mee.
Oh haples will, with such vnwary eyes,
About mishap that hast thy selfe bewrethed:
Thy trust of weale, my wailfull proofe denyes,
To wofull state wherby I am bequethed:
And into such a Laborinth betake,
As Dedalus for Minotaure did make.
About mishap that hast thy selfe bewrethed:
Thy trust of weale, my wailfull proofe denyes,
To wofull state wherby I am bequethed:
And into such a Laborinth betake,
As Dedalus for Minotaure did make.
With helples search, wheras it were assinde,
Without reuoke, I tread these endles Mayes:
Where more I walke, the more my selfe I winde.
Without a guyde, in Torments tyring wayes:
In hope I dread, where to and fro I rome,
By death ne life, and findes no better home.
Without reuoke, I tread these endles Mayes:
Where more I walke, the more my selfe I winde.
Without a guyde, in Torments tyring wayes:
In hope I dread, where to and fro I rome,
By death ne life, and findes no better home.
But sithe I see, that sorrow cannot ende,
These haples howres, the lines of my mischance:
And that my hope, can nought a whit amend,
My bitter dayes, nor better hap aduance:
I shall shake of, both doubtfull hope and dreede,
And so bee pleased, as God is best agreede.
These haples howres, the lines of my mischance:
And that my hope, can nought a whit amend,
My bitter dayes, nor better hap aduance:
I shall shake of, both doubtfull hope and dreede,
And so bee pleased, as God is best agreede.
FINIS.
| A gorgious Gallery, of gallant Inuentions | |