I.
[Well fare the life sometimes I ledde ere this]
The Author in this Passion taketh but occasion to
open his estate in loue; the miserable accidentes
whereof are sufficiently described hereafter in the
copious varietie of his deuises: & whereas in this
Sonnet he seemeth one while to despaire, and yet
by & by after to haue some hope of good successe,
the contrarietie ought not to offend, if the nature
& true qualitie of a loue passion bee well considered.
And where he mentioneth that once hee scorned
loue, hee alludeth to a peece of worke, whiche
he wrote long since, De Remedio Amoris, which he
hath lately perfected, to the good likinge of many
that haue seene and perused it, though not fully to
his owne fancy, which causeth him as yet to kepe
it backe from the printe.
Well
fare the life sometimes I ledde ere this,
When yet no downy heare yclad my face:
my heart deuoyde of cares did bath in blisse,
my thoughts were free in euery time & place:
But now (alas) all's fowle, which then was faire,
My wonted ioyes are turning to despaire.
Where then I liu'd without controule or checke,
An other now is mistris of my minde,
Cupid hath clapt a yoake vpon my necke,
Under whose waighte I liue in seruile kinde:
I now cry creake, that ere I scorned loue,
Whose might is more then other Gods aboue.
I haue assaide by labour to eschewe
What fancy buildes vpon a loue conceite,
But nearthelesse my thought reuiues anew,
Where in fond loue is wrapt, and workes deceite:
Some comfort yet I haue to liue her thrall,
In whome as yet I find no fault at all.
