University of Virginia Library



XVI. Would my conceit ye first enforst my woe

Would my conceit ye first enforst my woe,
Or els mine eyes which still ye same encrease,
Might be extinct, to end my sorrowes so
Which nowe are such as nothing can release:
Whose life is death, whose sweet each change of sowre
And eke whose hell renueth euery houre.
Each houre amidst the deepe of hell I frie,
Each houre I wast and wither where I sit,
But that sweet houre wherein I wish to die,
My hope alas may not enioy it yet,
Whose hope is such bereaued, of the blisse,
Which vnto all saue me allotted is.
To all saue me is free to liue or die,
To all saue me remaineth hap or hope,
But all perforce, I must abandon I,
Sith Fortune still directs my hap a slope,
Wherefore to neither hap nor hope I trust,
But to my thralles I yeeld, for so I must.