(45) Oh deadly dart, that strooke so deepe a wound, Oh hatefull hap, to hit in such a place: The hart is hurt, and bleedes the bodie ouer: Yet cannot die, nor euer health recouer.
Then he or she, that hath a happie hand, (50) To helpe a hart, that hath no hope to liue: Come, come with speede, and do not staying stand: But if no one, can any comfort giue, Run to the Church, and bid the Sexton toule A solemne knell, yet for a silie soule.
(55) Harke how it sounds, that sorrow lasteth long: Long, long: long long: long long, and longer yet: Oh cruell death: thou doost me double wrong, To let me lie so long in such a fit: Yet when I die, write neighbors where I lie; (60) Long was I dead, ere death would let me die.
T Hese lines I send by waues of woe, +And bale becomes my boate: Which sighes of sorowes still shall keepe, On floods of feare afloate.
(5) My sighes shall serue me still for winde, My lading is my smart: And true report my pilot is, My hauen is thy hart.
My keele is fram’d of crabbed care, (10) My ribs are all of ruthe: My planks are nothing else but plants, With treenailes ioinde with truthe.
My maine mast made of nought but mone, My tackling trickling teares: