(15) The seauenth day, when all things he had blest: 7 He hallowed that, and therein tooke his rest.
W. S. Gent.
B Y wracke late driuen on shoare, from Cupids Crare, +Whose sailes of error, sighes of hope and feare, Conueied through seas of teares, and sands of care, Till rocks of high disdaine, hir sides did teare, (5) I write a dirge, for dolefull doues to sing, With selfe same quill, I pluckt from Cupids wing.
Farewell vnkinde, by whom I fare so ill, Whose looks bewitcht my thoughts with false surmise, Till forced reason did vnbinde my will, (10) And shewed my hart, the follie of mine eies, And saide, attending where I should attaine, Twixt wish and want, was but a pleasing paine.
Farewell vnkinde, my floate is at an ebbe, My troubled thoughts, are turnd to quiet wars, (15) My fancies hope hath spun and spent hir webbe, My former wounds, are closed vp with skars, As ashes lie, longe since consumde with fire, So is my loue, so now is my desire.
Farewell vnkinde, my first and finall loue, (20) Whose coie contempts, it bootes not heere to name, But gods are iust, and euery star aboue, Doth threat reuenge, where faith’s reward is blame, And I may liue, though your despised thrall, By fond mischoyce, to see your fortunes fall.
(25) Farewell vnkinde, most cruell of your kinde, By whom my worth, is drowned in disdaines, As was my loue, so is your iudgement blinde, My fortune ill, and such hath bene my gaines,