The Penitent Louer vtterly renouncing loue, craues pardon of forefassed follies

IF such as did amisse
and ran their race awrie,
May boldely craue at Iudges hand
some mercie ere they die,
And pardon for their gilt
that wilfully transgrest,
And sawe the bownds before their eies
that vertue had addrest:
Then I that brake the bancks
which Reason had assignde
To such as would pursue hir traine,
may stande in hope to finde
Some fauour at hir hand:
since blinde forecast was cause,
And not my wilfull will in fault
that I haue swerude hir lawes.
Misguided haue I béene
and trayned all by trust,
And Loue was forger of the fraude,
and furtherer of my lust.
Whose vele did daze mine eies,
and darckned so my sight
With errors foggie mist at first,
that Reason gaue no light.
And as those wofull Wightes
that saile on swelling Seas,
When windes and wrathfull waues conspire
to banish all their ease,
When heauenly Lamps are hid
from Shipmens hungrie eies,
And Lodestarres are in couert kept
within the cloudie Skies:
As they without respect
doe follow Fortunes lore,
And run at randome in the flood
where Aeols Impes doe rore,
Till golden crested Phebe,
or else his Sisters light,
Haue chasde away those noysome clouds,
and put the same to flight:
So I (vnhappie man)
haue followde Loue a space,
And felt the whottest of his flame,
and flashing fierie blase.
In darknesse haue I dwelt,
and Errours vglie shade,
Vnwitting how to raise a Starre
from perill to cuade.
Few daies came on my head
wherein was cause of ioy,
But day and night were readie both
to hasten mine anoy.
Short were my sléepes (God wot)
most dreadfull were my dreames,
Mine eies (as Conduits of the hart)
did gush out saltish streames.
Tormented was my Corse,
my minde was neuer frée,
But both repleate with anguish aye
disseuerde sought to bée.
No place might like mée long,
no pleasure could endure,
In stead of sport was smart at hande,
for pastime paine in vre.
A Bondman to my selfe,
yet frée in others sight,
Not able to resist the rage
of winged Archers might.
Thus haue I spent my time
in seruage as a Thrall,
Till Reason of hir bountie list
mée to hir mercie call.
Now haue I made returne,
and by good hap retirde
From Cupids Camp and déepe Dispaire:
and once againe aspirde
To Ladie Reasons stawle
where wisedome throned is,
On promise of amends releast
is all that was amis.
To Plato now I flie,
and Senecs sound aduice:
A Fatch for Loue, I force not now
what Chaunce fall on the Dice.