Sonnet
O woefull life! life, no, but liuing death,
Fraile boat of christall in a rockie sea,
A sport expos'd to Fortune's stormie breath,
Which, kept with paine, with terrour doth decay:
The false delights, true woes thou dost bequeath,
Mine all-appalled minde doe so affraye,
That I those enuie who are laid in earth,
And pittie them that runne thy dreadfull waye.
When did mine eyes behold one chearefull morne?
When had my tossed soule one night of rest?
When did not hatefull starres my projects scorne?
O! now I finde for mortalls what is best;
Euen, sith our voyage shamefull is, and short,
Soone to strike saile, and perish in the port.
Fraile boat of christall in a rockie sea,
A sport expos'd to Fortune's stormie breath,
Which, kept with paine, with terrour doth decay:
The false delights, true woes thou dost bequeath,
Mine all-appalled minde doe so affraye,
That I those enuie who are laid in earth,
And pittie them that runne thy dreadfull waye.
When did mine eyes behold one chearefull morne?
When had my tossed soule one night of rest?
When did not hatefull starres my projects scorne?
O! now I finde for mortalls what is best;
Euen, sith our voyage shamefull is, and short,
Soone to strike saile, and perish in the port.
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