 | Poems (1872) |  |
53
V. HIS GOOD NAME BEING BLEMISHED, HE BEWAILETH.
Fram'd in the front of forlorne hope, past all recouerie,
I staielesse stand to abide the shock of shame and infamie.
My life through lingring long is lodg'd in lare of lothsome wayes,
My death delayed to keepe from life, the harme of haplesse daies.
My sprites, my heart, my wit and force, in deep distresse are dround:
The only losse of my good name, is of these greefes the ground.
I staielesse stand to abide the shock of shame and infamie.
My life through lingring long is lodg'd in lare of lothsome wayes,
My death delayed to keepe from life, the harme of haplesse daies.
My sprites, my heart, my wit and force, in deep distresse are dround:
The only losse of my good name, is of these greefes the ground.
And since my minde, my wit, my head, my voice, and toung are weake,
To vtter, moue, deuise, conceiue, sound foorth, declare and speake
Such pearsing plaintes, as answere might, or would my wofull case,
Help craue I must, and craue I will, with teares vpon my face:
Of all that may in heauen or hell, in earth or ayre be found,
To waile with me this losse of mine, as of these griefes the ground.
To vtter, moue, deuise, conceiue, sound foorth, declare and speake
Such pearsing plaintes, as answere might, or would my wofull case,
Help craue I must, and craue I will, with teares vpon my face:
Of all that may in heauen or hell, in earth or ayre be found,
To waile with me this losse of mine, as of these griefes the ground.
54
Help Gods, help saintes, help sprites and powers, that in the heauen do dwell,
Help ye that are aye wont to waile, ye howling houndes of hell,
Help man, help beastes, help birds and wormes, that on the earth doo toyle,
Help fish, help foule, that flockes and feedes vpon the salt sea soyle.
Help Eccho that in ayre dooth flee, shrill voices to resound,
To wail this losse of my good name, as of these griefes the ground.
Help ye that are aye wont to waile, ye howling houndes of hell,
Help man, help beastes, help birds and wormes, that on the earth doo toyle,
Help fish, help foule, that flockes and feedes vpon the salt sea soyle.
Help Eccho that in ayre dooth flee, shrill voices to resound,
To wail this losse of my good name, as of these griefes the ground.
| Poems (1872) | |