II.
[My harte is sett him downe twixt hope & feares]
In this passion the Author describeth in how pitious
a case the hart of a louer is, being (as he fayneth
heere) seperated from his owne body, & remoued
into a darksome and solitarie wildernes of woes.
The cōueyance of his inuention is plaine & pleasant
enough of it selfe, and therefore needeth the
lesse annotation before it.
My
harte is sett him downe twixt hope & feares
Upon the stonie banke of high desire,
To view his own made flud of blubberīg teares
Whose waues are bitter salt, and hote as fire:
There blowes no blast of wind but ghostly grones
Nor waues make other noyse then pitious moanes
As life were spent he waiteth Charons boate,
And thinkes he dwells on side of Stigian lake:
But blacke despaire some times with open throate,
Or spightfull Ielousie doth cause him quake,
With howlinge shrikes on him they call and crie
That he as yet shall nether liue nor die:
Thus voyde of helpe he sittes in heauie case,
And wanteth voyce to make his iust complaint.
No flowr but Hiacynth in all the place,
No sunne comes there, nor any heau'nly sainte,
But onely shee, which in him selfe remaines,
And ioyes her ease though he abound in paines.
