Caelica, Sonnet XLV

PAtience, weake fortun'd, and weake minded Wit,
Perswade you me to ioy, when I am banish'd?
Why preach you time to come, and ioyes with it,
Since time already come, my ioyes hath vanish'd?

Giue me sweet Cynthia, with my wonted blisse,
Disperse the clouds that coffer vp my treasure,
Awake Endymion, with Diana's kisse,
And then sweet Patience, counsell me to measure,

But while my Loue feeles nothing but correction,
While carelesnesse o're-shadowes my deuotion,
While Myra's beames shew riuall-like reflection,
The life of Patience then must be commotion;
Since not to feele what wrong I beare in this,
A senselesse state, and no true Patience is.