Songes and sonettes, written by the right honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other

The louer lamenteth that he would forget loue, and can not.

ALas when shall I ioy, When shall my wofull hart, Cast forth the folish toy That breadeth all my smart. A thousand times and mo, I haue attempted sore: To rid this restlesse wo, Which raigneth more and more. But when remembrance past, Hath laid dead coales together: Did loue renewes his blast, That cause my ioyes to wither. Then sodaynely a spark, Startes out of my desire: And lepes into my hart, Settyng the coles a fire. Then reason runnes about, To seke forgetfull water: To quench and clene put out, The cause of all this matter. And saith dead flesh must nedes, Be cut out of the core, For rotten withered wedes, Can heale no greuous sore. But then euen sodaynely, The feruent heat doth slake: And cold then straineth me, That makes my bodies shake. Alas who can endure, To suffer all this paine, Sins her that should me cure, Most cruell death hath slaine. Well well, I say no more, Let dead care for the dead, Yet wo is me therfore, I must attempt to lead.

One other kinde of life, Then hitherto I haue: Or els this paine and strife, Will bring me to my graue.