¶ The Louer beeing ouermuch weryed with seruile
lyfe, compareth it to a Laborinth. +
W Ith speedy winges, my fethered woes pursues, My wretched life, made olde by weary dayes: But as the fire of Ethna + stil renues, And breedes as much, by flame as it decayes: (5) My heauy cares, that once I thought would ende mee, Prolongs my life, the more mishap to lende mee.
Oh haples will, with such vnwary eyes, About mishap that hast thy selfe bewrethed: Thy trust of weale, my wailfull proofe denyes, (10) To wofull state wherby I am bequethed: And into such a Laborinth betake, As Dedalus for Minotaure did make.
With helples search, wheras it were assinde, Without reuoke, I tread these endles Mayes: (15) Where more I walke, the more my selfe I winde. Without a guyde, in Torments tyring wayes: In hope I dread, where to and fro I rome, By death ne life, and findes no better home.
But sithe I see, that sorrow cannot ende, (20) These haples howres, the liues of my mischance: And that my hope, can nought a whit amend, My bitter dayes, nor better hap aduance: I shall shake of, both doubtfull hope and dreede, And so bee pleased, as God is best agreede.