The tears of Fancie or, Loue Disdained |
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| XXXI. |
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| XXXV. |
Sonnet. XXXV.
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| XXXIX. |
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| LVII. |
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| LX. |
 | The tears of Fancie |  |
Sonnet. XXXV.
[Amongst the Idle toyes that tosse my brayne]
Amongst the Idle toyes that tosse my brayne,And leaue my troubled mynd from quiet rest:
Ayle cruell loue I find doth still remayne,
To breede debate within my grieued brest.
VVhen weary woe doth worke to wound my will,
And hart surchargd with sorrow liues opressed:
My sowlen eyes then cannot wayle there fill,
Sorrow is so far spent and I distressed.
My toung hath not the cunning skill to tell,
The smallest greife that gripes my trobbing hart:
Myne eies haue not the secret power to swell,
Into such hugie seas of wounding smart.
That will might melt to waues of bitter woe,
And I might swelt or drowne in sorrowes so,
| The tears of Fancie | |