The Works of William Fowler :: :: University of Virginia Library

The sorye sighs, the sobbs, the sharpe assayes,
The deadlye woes, the dangers & dispayres,
The sondrye sutes rewarded with delayes,
The restles thoughtes that newe in me repaires,
The cruell pangues, the tormentes & the cares,
That loue hathe lodgd within my dolefull breist,
Might warne some wight all loue for to deteste.

The Ioyfull mynde the daye soone ouer dryues,
But slowlye slydes it with the wofull wight;
My medecyne against my health so stryues
That yet she sayeth my sicknes is but slight,
Thoughe euerye hower a year is in my sight,
And all tymes tymelesse tymes for my release,
For with the tyme I feile my cares increase.

Wherfore all hope in me dothe come behynde;
My haples happ putes hope out of his place;
Thoughe hope a whyle did feid my feruent mynde,
And hopinge still I hopt for better grace,
Hope to dispaire is tournd nowe, allace!
his hap is hard in haste that dothe pursue,
And spendes the worste in love that is most trewe.

For if I absent be a daye or twaine,
Thoughe she be neuer absent from my harte,
My sute is even as newe to dresse againe
As when hir bewtye caused firste my smarte.
For looke, howe well at ease we can departe,
I fynde hir always come of womans kynde;
Thus of my woes no perfect end I finde.

344

If faithfull seruice or a constant harte,
A steidfast thought, & meaninge always trew,
Might purchace hope of guerdon for his parte,
I ame assurd the same to me were due:
For sooner shall the worlde be formd anewe,
The frost be fyre, the day no more giue light,
Eare I will falce one worde I hir behight.

Finis.