And my liues hope would die but for dyspaire;
My neuer certaine ioy breeds euer-certaine feares.
Vncertaine dread gyues wings vnto my hope,
Yet my hopes wings are loden so with feare,
As they cannot ascend to my hopes spheare,
Yet feare gyues them more then a heauenly scope.
Yet this large roome is bounded with dyspaire,
So my loue is still fettered with vaine hope,
And lyberty depriues him of hys scope,
And thus am I imprisond in the ayre:
Then, sweet Dispaire, awhile hold vp thy head,
Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.


Amour 38

If chaste and pure deuotion of my youth,
Or glorie of my Aprill-springing yeeres,
Vnfained loue in naked simple truth,
A thousand vowes, a thousand sighes and teares;
Or if a world of faithful seruice done,
Words, thoughts, and deeds deuoted to her honor,
Or eyes that haue beheld her as theyr sunne,
With admiration euer looking on her:
A lyfe that neuer ioyd but in her loue,
A soule that euer hath ador'd her name,
A fayth that time nor fortune could not moue,
A Muse that vnto heauen hath raised her fame.
Though these, nor these deserue to be imbraced,
Yet, faire vnkinde, too good to be disgraced.