Sinetes passions vppon his fortunes offered for an incense at the shrine of the ladies which guided his distempered thoughtes. The patrons patheticall posies, sonets, maddrigals, and rowndelayes. Together with Sinetes dompe. By Robert Parry Gent.

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Title
Sinetes passions vppon his fortunes offered for an incense at the shrine of the ladies which guided his distempered thoughtes. The patrons patheticall posies, sonets, maddrigals, and rowndelayes. Together with Sinetes dompe. By Robert Parry Gent.
Author
Parry, Robert, fl. 1540-1612.
Publication
At London :: Printed by T[homas] P[urfoot] for William Holme, and are to be sould on Ludgate hill at the signe of the holy Lambe,
1597.
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"Sinetes passions vppon his fortunes offered for an incense at the shrine of the ladies which guided his distempered thoughtes. The patrons patheticall posies, sonets, maddrigals, and rowndelayes. Together with Sinetes dompe. By Robert Parry Gent." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A09044.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 14, 2025.

Pages

Page [unnumbered]

PASSION. XIII. (Book 13)

GVyded by fit•…•…s, with malencholy looke, I laie me downe vpon the winding banke, To heare the musicke of the running brooke, And smell the grasse that was both fresh and ranke: There I complaine, there •…•…ament my state, That thus am crost with fortunes deadly hate
Then to the brooke, I thus begyn to moane, Thou warbling streame that doest refresh my care, To my dis•…•…led griefe, and doest alone, Giue place, and passage free prepare: The same to bring vnto the boundles Seas, Which there attend Sir NE•…•…TVNS minde to please.
Thou searching scowrer of the grossest mould, And element most subtile, fresh, and pure, That windest about dame TERRA thowsand fould, Behould the martirdome which I endure: That passeth through the Limbecke of my heart, And setts my minde, with force of gauled smart.
Say to thy selfe in still and silent sorte, Doth fortune thus SINETES true confound? Ah Goddesse blind that loues such cruell sport, To thy dishonour this will sure redownde, Leaue of, knit thy bended browes on him, That daylie doth in seas of sorrowes swimme.
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