(25) There is no tong can tell My thousand part of care Ther may no fire in hell, With my desire compare. No boyling leade can pas(30) My scalding sighes in hete: Nor snake that euer was, With stinging can so freteA true and tender hert, As my thoughtes dayly doe, (35) So that I know but smart, And that which longes thereto. O Cupid Uenns son, As thou hast showed thy might. And hast this conquest woon, (40) Now end the same aright. And as I am thy slaue, Contented with all this: So helpe me soone to haue My parfect earthly blisse.
Of the death of sir Thomas
wiate the elder. +
L O dead he liues, that whilome liued here, Among the dead that quick go on the ground. Though he be dead, yet doth he quick apere, By liuely name that death cannot confound (5) His life for ay of fame the trump shall sound. Though he be dead, yet liues he here aliue. Thus can no death from Wiate; life depriue.