Tottel sig. Siiir | Verse Miscellanies Online

[sig. Siiir]

Lay down your lutes and let your gitternscitherns, similar to the guitar  rest. Phillips is dead whose like you can not finde.  Of musicke much exceeding all the rest, Muses therefore of forceby necessity  now must you wrestwrench , Your pleasant notes into an other sound, The string is broke, the lute is dispossest. The hand is cold, the body in the ground.  The lowringlouring or lowering, mournful, melancholy  lute lamenteth now therfore. Phillips her frende that can her touche no more. 

That all thing somtime finde
ease of their paine, saue
onely the louer. + Author: possibly Thomas Churchyard. ‘The theme and various lines of this poem remind one of Surrey’s [‘The faithful lover declareth his pains and his uncertain joys, and with only hope recomforteth somewhat his woeful heart’] *; the style suggests Thomas Churchyard’ (Rollins). Structure: 32: 8×4 ab6a8b6

I  See there is no sort, Of thinges that liue in griefe: Which at somtime may not resort, Wheras they haue reliefe.  The striken Derestricken deer  by kindenature , Of death that standes in awe: For his recurecure  an herbe can finde, The arrow to withdrawe. The chased Dere hath soile,  To coole him in his heat: The Asse after his wery toile, In stable is vp setset up . The Conyrabbit  hath his caue, The litle bird his nest:  From heate and cold them selues to saue, At all times as they listdesire . The Owle with feble sight. Lyes lurking in the leaues: The Sparrow in the frosty night,  May shroude her in the caues. But wo to me alas, In sunne nor yet in shade, I cannot finde a resting place, My burden to vnladeunload .  But day by day still beares, The burden on my backe: 