University of Virginia Library

He declareth his greate mishappes, and lamentable sorovves of harte.

When eache wight wonted is, to take by nature rest,
I lie alas through greeping griefe, and thought so sore oprest,
That from my goyng to bead, vntill the time I rise,
Sleape once hath skarse the powre to close my weeping wakefull eyes,
In whiche longe lothsome nightes, my Pen full oft I blame,
For that the wofull state of me t'indite he doth not frame:
Whose youthfull yeares and daies, by nature were not ripe,
When cruell fate them cleane cut of, at one most soden wipe:
Though life do yet remaine to length my time in teares,
Whiche fliyng fame seemes not to cease, to blow in each wightes eares,
Forsinge me oft God knowes, a heauie harte to beare,
When outwardly I seeme to shew, a glad and mery chere,
And eke a carefull minde, more troublously it ost,
Then is the shipman on the Sea, in daunger nie the lost:
Whose care no greater is, then life and goods to saue,
When I of God continually, with humble voyce do craue,
That he by death will quite, my grief away expell,
And geue to me a place amonge, the saued soules to dwell:
Which now longe times haue been, so tossed with vnrest,
That scarse I may the woes sustaine, that lie in wofull brest,
To thinke on my mishaps, whiche do me still betide,
When happie hap to finde redresse, full fast away doth glide,
What greater greife may growe in any honest minde,
Then is to wante such wonted wealth, as it some time did finde;
Such prouidence for man, doth Fortune oft procure,
When smilingly she seemes to trayne, with bayte of golden leure,
By meane wherof she will, a ranckred poyson lay,
Full closely coucht in pleasant bayte, with that poore soule to tray,
As I but lately tried, who doth her bayts so taste,
That secretly I sup the smarts, whiche cause me pine and waste:
Would God when I began, to enter first to life,
That present death had pearst my hart, and rid me cleane this strife,
So should my Parents not, haue been at such great cost,
To bringe me vp on whom by fate, their great good gifts are lost:
Ne yet haue left to me, no whit such wealth at all,
Whereby from wealth to miserie, might chaunce a soden fall,
But should the same els where, haue well bestowed I say,
Which they in leauing vnto me, did naught but cast away,
Whose heauie helplesse haps, increasing euery hower,
Doth force me weepe, when others sleape, where fortune doth not lowe
Thus passe I forth the nighte, when wishe doth wante his will,
Whom fortune seekes by great despight, most cruellie to spill,
And when the dawninge day, I do perceaue and see,
And eke how Titan lifteth vp, himselfe in first degree,
Whose glorious glyttering beames, doth mooue eache thing to ioy,
Saue only I whose haplesse hap, hath wrought all mine anoy:
Then from my coutche I creepe, all clad with woe and care,
And for to walke in Desart place, my selfe I do prepare,
Where none but wofull wights, do wandring wayle their greefe,
Where violence doth vengance take, where neuer coms releefe:
Where pleasure plaies no parte, nor wanton life is lead,
Where daintinesse no daunger makes, ne finesse once is fead:
Where deepe dispayre doth dwell, in owgle lothsome lake:
Where feurious feendes do fersly fight, an sorowes neuer slake:
Euen there in dolefull Den, I do driue forth the day,
Where as my pitious plainte and wo, no time hath once to stay,
And then a new I wish, that I had neuer been,
To voyde the painefull piteous plight, that now I wretch am in,
Within whose troubled head, such thronge of thoughts doth rise,
That now on this and then on that, I cease not oft to vise,
Amonge whiche thoughts I note, this one that doth ensew,
Which as the younge Byrde brought from neast, & put in cage or mew,
Doth ioye in that her life, as much as though she might
From wood to wood, or feilde to feilde, at pleasure take hir flight,
whiche plainly doth declare, a man from byrth brought vp,
In meane estate that neuer knew, the taste of wanton cup,
Doth holde himselfe so well contente, with his degree,
That he in life doth seldome seeke, to craue more greater fee.
But I as byrde vnlike, that flew hir timely flight,
Throughout the groues and fertill fielde, in ioyes and great delight,
Which shall no sooner feele hir selfe, to be restrainde,
From her such wonted libertie, as some time she retainde:
But forth withall she doth, such inwarde thought conceaue,
That yelding vp hir pleasures past, hir life therewith doth leaue,
when as the byrde in Cage, with chirpyng cheare doth singe,
That neuer knew the place wherein, she had more better b'inge:
So I do playnly see, eche wight that wealth hath taste,
And afterwardes doth wante the same, with sorow is imbraste,
Wherefore sith life apointed was, in me this longe to last,
In simplest sorte woulde God I had the same to this time past,
Then should I sure haue liude contente with this my pay,
Which now because of carefull change in wo do wast away.