A dolefull fancy

SORROW rippe vp all thy senses,
Neerest vnto horrors nature:
Taste of all thy quintessences,
That may kill a wretched creature.

Then, beholde my wofull spirit,
All in passions ouerthrowne:
And, full closely, like a ferret,
Seize vpon it for thine owne.

But, if thou doe growe dismaid,
When thou dost but looke on mee,
When my passions well displaid,
Will but make a blast of thee,

Then in griefe of thy disgraces,
Where my fortunes doe deface thee,
Tell thy Muses to their faces,
They may learne of mee to grace thee.

For, thy sighes, thy sobbes, and teares
But thy common badges beene:
While the paine the spirit beares,
Eates away the heart vnseene.

Where, in silence swallowed vp
Are the sighes and teares of loue,
Which are drawne to fill the cuppe
Must be drunke to deaths behoue.

Then beholding my hearts swoune,
In my torments more and more,
Say, when thou dost sit thee downe,
Thou wert neuer grac't before.