H. His Deuises for his owne exercise, and his Friends pleasure [by Thomas Howell] |
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Where Sorrowe is setled, delyght is banished.
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 | H. His Deuises |  |
Where Sorrowe is setled, delyght is banished.
The Sable sadde bewrapped hath my lymmes,(A sute most fyt for one repleat with griefe.)
Whose strayned hart in sowrce of sorrowe swymmes,
Where wrackfull woes at no tyme finde reliefe.
Whose foode is feare, whose drinke is dolor deepe,
Whose sawce is sighes, whose tast sharpe passions are:
Whose rest is ruthe, where sorrowes neuer sleepe,
Whose comfort clipsed is with clowds of care.
Whose helpe is frozen, whose hap hath hard euente,
Whose hope is queld with clogge of colde dispayre:
Whose trust is tyerd, whose toyle in vaine is spente,
Whose pensiue plaintes but beate the barreyn ayre.
Where nought I finde, but drugges of bitter taste,
Whose dolefull dayes in darke annoye do waste.
| H. His Deuises | |