A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures Gallantly garnished, with goodly Galleries of strang inuentio[n]s and prudently polished, with sundry pleasant Posies, & other fine fancies of dainty deuices, and rare delightes. Written by a student in Ca[m]bridge. And published by I. C. Gent |
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The thirde complaint.
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 | A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures |  |
The thirde complaint.
Sit erracti medicina confessio.
Ah
, ah, my hart, my hart, my hart, my hart,
What pincking panges? what danger doost thou feele?
I see my freends, haue lefte to take my part,
My hart, my hart, can not my greefe conceale:
My pen hath sworne, my matter to reueale,
Perforce my hands, these scribled lines did write,
And wished some meanes my trespasse to requite.
What pincking panges? what danger doost thou feele?
I see my freends, haue lefte to take my part,
My hart, my hart, can not my greefe conceale:
My pen hath sworne, my matter to reueale,
Perforce my hands, these scribled lines did write,
And wished some meanes my trespasse to requite.
What shall I say? what shall I take in hand?
My minde is dull, my braine is battered sore,
My eyes bee dimme, where trickling teares doo stand:
My soule hath sobbed, my hart can sighe no more,
But now beholde, your mercy and implore:
I craue for grace, and pardon for my crime,
Condempe mee not, before my allotted time.
My minde is dull, my braine is battered sore,
My eyes bee dimme, where trickling teares doo stand:
My soule hath sobbed, my hart can sighe no more,
But now beholde, your mercy and implore:
I craue for grace, and pardon for my crime,
Condempe mee not, before my allotted time.
But try agayne, and see what frutes shall flow,
No labor lost, no trauell shall bee spent:
Bee willing then, some mercy for to show,
To him that hath, a minde for to repent:
Kill not the frutes, of such a good intent,
And when the like, you shall in mee detect,
Then shake your hand, and pay mee for neglect.
No labor lost, no trauell shall bee spent:
Bee willing then, some mercy for to show,
To him that hath, a minde for to repent:
Kill not the frutes, of such a good intent,
And when the like, you shall in mee detect,
Then shake your hand, and pay mee for neglect.
And this is all, and more then all I thinke,
Yea this is all I purposed to wright:
Then saue the ship, which voyde of hope must sinke,
And lye a pray, vnto the Ocians might:
The day in sighes, in teares I spend the night,
Then stay my teares, release mee of my paine,
I haue confest, and doo recant againe.
Yea this is all I purposed to wright:
Then saue the ship, which voyde of hope must sinke,
And lye a pray, vnto the Ocians might:
The day in sighes, in teares I spend the night,
Then stay my teares, release mee of my paine,
I haue confest, and doo recant againe.
| A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures | |