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

About this Item

Title
Songes and sonettes, written by the right honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other
Publication
[London] :: Apud Richardum Tottel. Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum solum,
1557.
Rights/Permissions

To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.

Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A03742.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Songes and sonettes, written by the right honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A03742.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 2, 2024.

Pages

Page [unnumbered]

The forsakeu louer describeth and fosaketh loue.

O Lothsome place where I Haue sene and hard my dere when in my hart her eye Hath made her thought appere By glimsing with such grace As fortune it ne would, That lasten any space Betwene vs lnger should. As fortune did auance, To further my desire: Euen so hath fortunes chaunce Throwen all amiddes the mire. And that I haue deserued with true and faithful hart, Is to his handes reserued That neuer felt the smart. But happy is that man, That scaped hath the griefe That loue well teache him can By wanting his reliefe. A scourge to quiet mindes It is, who taketh hede. A common plage that bindes, A trauell without mede. This gift it hath also, who so enioies it most, A thousand troubles grow To vexe his weried ghost. And last it may not long The truest thing of all And sure the greatest wrong That is within this thrall. But sins thou desert place Canst geue me no accompt Of my desired grace That I so haue was wont Farewell thou hast me taught

Page 12

To thinke me not the furst, That loue hath set aloft, And casten in the dust.
Do you have questions about this content? Need to report a problem? Please contact us.