Page [unnumbered]
PASSION. IX. (Book 9)
YF wayling may appease the wrathfull Gods,
And pittie moue the tyranized heart,
My scourged minde with firie burning rods,
Maye paye the tribute of my restles smart,
With sacrifice of salt and brinish teares,
Which yeilde newe life to late departed feares.
No floode so heigh but hath as lo•…•… an ebb,
No storme so great but hath a caulme ensuies,
No man so mad to weaue his sorrowes webb,
And being condemnd his pardon will refuse:
Floods, stormes, and webbs, of griefe, of care, of paitre,
Mayfall, may cease, may be vndone againe.
Floods, stormes, nor webs, of my new budding woe,
Will fall, or cease, or be vndone at all,
The more I striue, the stronger is the bowe,
Which will not bend but to my greater fall:
And still doth shoote the arrowes of disdaine,
My hope being dead to wound, to kill againe.
Dead hope except my froward fortnne change,
Which bends her browe, and yeildes no hope to me,
But that I must in wildest dezartes rainge,
With sauage rude and Tigers to agree;
No force, for there the Driads I shall finde
With musickes note for to refresh my minde.