And loue doth make my thoughts arise, And thoughts are firme, and will not moue, Vouchsafe to knit by powre vnknowne, Our eies, our loues, our thoughts in one.
T. L. Gent.
L Ike desart woods, with darksome shades obscured, +Where dredful beasts, wher hateful horror raigneth Such is my wounded hart whom sorrow paineth.
The trees, are fatall shafts, to death inured, (5) That cruell Loue within my breast maintaineth, To whet my griefe, when as my sorrow waineth.
The gastly beasts, my thoughts in cares assured, Which wage me warre, whilst hart no succor gaineth, With false suspect, and feare that still remaineth.
(10) The horrors, burning sighes by cares procured, Which forth I send, whilst weeping eie complaineth, To coole the heate, the helples hart containeth.
But shafts, but cares, sighes, horrors vnrecured, Were nought esteemde, if for these paines awarded, (15) My faithfull Loue by you might be rewarded.
T. L. Gent.
F Or pittie pretie eies surcease, +To giue me warre, and graunt me peace, Triumphant eies, why beare you Armes, Against a hart that thinks no harmes. (5) A hart alreadie quite appalde, A hart that yeelds, and is enthrald, Kill Rebels prowdly that resist, Not those that in true faith persist.