Who hath ynough, yet thinks he liues without, (10) To want no loue, and yet to stand in doubt, What discontent, to liue in such desire, To haue his will, yet euer to require.
T He time, when first I fell in Loue, +Which now I must lament, The yeere, wherein I lost such time, to compasse my content.
(5) The day, wherein I sawe too late, The follies of a Louer, The hower, wherein I found such losse, As care cannot recouer.
And last, the minute of mishap, (10) Which makes me thus to plaine, The dolefull fruits of Louers sutes, Which labor lose in vaine:
Doth make me solemnly protest, As I with paine doe proue, (15) There is no time, yeere, day, nor howre, Nor minute, good to loue.
W Hen day is gone, and darknes come, +The toyling tired wight, Doth vse to ease his wearie bones, By rest in quiet night.
(5) When storme is staied, and harbor woon, The Sea man set on shore, With comfort doth requite the care, Of perils past before.