Sonnet 24.

THe Starre of my mishap imposd my paining
To spend the Aprill of my yeares in crying,
That neuer found my fortune but in wayning,
VVith still fresh cares my bloud and bodie trying.

Yet her I blame not, though she might haue blest me
But my desiers wings so high aspiring;
Now melted with the Sunne that hath possest me,
Downe doo I fall from of my high desiring.

And in my fall doo crie for mercie speedie,
No piteous eye lookes backe vpon my mourning;
No helpe I finde, when now most fauour neede I;
My Ocean teares drowne me, and quench my burning,
And this my death must christen her anew,
Whiles faith doth bid my cruell Faire adieu.