A fantasticke solemne humour

SOVND, good reason, sound my sorrowes,
Equall them with any liuing:
Finde the worst of all her giuing,
When she most her mischiefe borrowes.

Leaue not patience all perplexed,
Where no passions are appeased:
But her torments neuer eased,
Keepe her spirit too much vexed.

Tell, oh tell the truest story,
That hath long time bene described:
Whereto iustly is ascribed
Sorrowes pride, and death his glory.

Loue bred in discretions blindnesse,
Shadowes, for the sunne affecting
Nothing, but nothing effecting,
Shewes the crosse of Natures kindnesse.

Wit, bewitcht with wanton beauty,
Lost the raines of reasons bridle:
And, in folly all too idle,
Brake the bands of reasons duty.

Time misspent in follies trifles
(With repentance sorrow feeding)
In the rules of reasons reeding,
Findes them nothing else but nifles.

Care, yet, seeking to recouer
Indiscretions heauie losses,
Found in casting vp my crosses,
Sorrow only left the louer.