When that I see eche man enioy his whole delite, Saue I alas poore cursed man whom Fortune doth so spite. (15) I fall straight to the ground, amazed with much griefe, With blouddy strokes vpon my brest, I striue to rid my lief. And thus I thinke, how can fayre pictures those delight: Whom nature from their tender age, defrauded of their sight.
¶ The louer beeing newly cought in Cupids snares, complayneth
on the Gods of loue, and compareth his greefe as followeth. +
T He hugie heape of cares, that in this world I finde, +The sodayne sighes that sore molest my hart The foolish fansies that still run in my minde: Makes mee to lay all ioy and myrth apart, (5) Lamenting still the causes of my smart. But oh, alas, the more I weepe and wayle, The more my greefe to mee seemes to preuayle.
The more I seeke my pinchinge panges to swage, By diuers wayes, such as I thinke be best (10) The more it frets, the more it gins to rage, So that my senceles head can take no rest: Ah seely wretch, what doth thee thus mollest Or what doth thus perturbe thy restlesse braynes, And from thy harte all worldly ioye detaynes.
(15) Alas what this should bee I can not tell, My youthfull yeares can skill of no such change But if some vgly shape of fury fell: Or wicked wight that in this world doth rangeHath witched mee with this disease so strange. (20) Or Cupid with his force of cruell dart, Hath stricken mee and wounded thus my hart.