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. XV. (Book 15)

BEnighted thus with clouds of new-sprong charge, My swelling heart (puff•…•…d vp by force of heate, Supprest) did burne, till teares did fier enlarge; Then water quench'd the flame, and frost the sweate; A dolefull choise of two euills one to name, To f•…•…ie in frost or freese in firie flame.
The time was come, that all my ioyes should end, Then straying to me was this vn-wonted care, And so much more my scalding sighes I spend: For as I could I did my minde prepare; For to endure these floods of deepe annoy, That drown'd my hope, and rob'd me of my ioy.
O time accurs'd that eu'r I knewe that day, Which hath dis-roabde my minde of sweete content, For then were hatch'd the birdes of my decay: When vn-awares my listning eare I lent, To SIRENS song, and CIRCES cursed charmes, That train'd my minde, to worke his maisters harmes.
No musick then could better please mine eare, Nor obiect seeme more precious to mine eye, Then that which did my cruell torments reare, Where but content I nothing could espie, Yet fairest flowers haue filthie Adders nest, And I haue found in pleasures vaine vnrest.
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