A farewell to Loue
Farewell false Loue the Oracle of lyes,
A mortall foe, an enemy to rest;
An enuious boy from whence great cares arise:
A Bastard vile, a beast with rage possest.
A way for error, tempest, full of treason;
In all respect contrary vnto reason.
A poyson’d Serpent couered all with flowers,
Mother of sighs, and murtherer of repose;
A sea of sorrow, whence run all such showres
As moysture giues to euery griefe that growes:
A schoole of guile, a nest of deepe deceit,
A golden hooke that holds a poysoned bait.
A fortlesse field, whom reason did defend:
A Syrens song, a feruour of the mind:
A maze wherein afflection finds no end:
A raining cloud, that runs before the wind,
A substance like the shadow of the Sunne:
A gole of griefe for which the wisest runne.
A quenchlesse fire, a nest of trembling feare:
A path that leads to perill and mishap:
A true retreat of sorrow and despaire,
An idle boy that sleepes in pleasures lap:
A deepe mistrust of that which certaine seemes,
A hope of that which reason doubtfull deemes.
Then sith thy reigne my yonger yeeres betraid:
And for my faith ingratitude I find:
And sith repentance hath the wrong bewraid,
Whose crooked course hath not beene after kind,
False loue go backe, and beauty fraile adew,
Dead is the root from whence such fancies grew.
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