Sonnet 60

O! It is not to me bright Lampe of Day,
That in the East thou show'sts thy golden Face,
O! it is not to me thou leav'st that sea,
And in those azure Lists began'st thy Race.
Thou shinest not to the Dead in any Place,
And I dead from this World am past away▪
Or if I seem (a Shadow) yet to stay,
It is a while but to bewaile my Case.
My Mirth is lost, my Comforts are dismaid,
And unto sad Mishaps their Place do yeeld;
My Knowledge represents a bloudy Field,
Where I my Hopes and helps see prostrate laid.
So plaintfull is Lifes Course which I have run,
That I do wish it never had begun.