(35) To seke the place where I my self had lost, That day that I was tangled in the lace, In semyng slack that knitteth euer most: +But neuer yet the trauaile of my thought Of better state coulde catch a cause to bost. (40) For if I found sometime, that I haue sought, Those sterres by whom I trusted of the port: My sailes do fall, and I aduance right nought, As ankerd fast: my sprites do all resort To stand agazed, and sink in more and more +(45) The deadly harme which she doth take in sport. Lo, if I seke, how I do finde my sore: And if I flee, I cary with me still The venomd shaft, which doth his force restore By haste of flight + and I may plaine my fill (50) Unto my self, vnlesse this carefull song Print in your hart some parcell of my tene. +For I, alas, in silence all to long, Of mine old hurt yet fele the wound but grene. Rue on my life: or els your cruel wrong (55) Shall well appere, and by my death be sene.
Description of Spring, wherin eche
thing renewes, saue onely
the louer. +
T He soote + season, that bud and blome forth brings, With grene hath clad the hill, and eke the vale: The nightingale, with fethers new she sings: The turtle to her make hath tolde her tale: (5) Somer is come, for euery spray now springs, The hart hath hong his old hed on the pale: The buck in brake his winter coate he flings: The fishes flete with new repayred scale: The adder all her slough away she slings: (10) The swift swallow pursueth the flies smalle: The busy bee her hony now she minges: Winter is worne that was the flowers bale: And thus I see among these pleasant things, Eche care decayes, and yet my sorow springs.