And so he died, that all this bale had bred.
And yet my heart misdoubts he is not dead:
For, sure, I fear, should I Alcilia spy;
She might, eftsoons, revive him with her eye!
Such power divine remaineth in her sight;
To make him live again, in Death's despite.
The Sonnets following were written by the Author,
after he began to decline from his Passionate
Affection; and in them, he seemeth to
please himself with describing the
Vanity of Love, the Frailty
of Beauty, and the
sour fruits of
Repentance.
I.
Now have I spun the web of my own woes,
And laboured long to purchase my own loss.
Too late I see, I was beguiled with shows.
And that which once seemed gold, now proves but dross.
Thus am I, both of help and hope bereaved.
"He never tried that never was deceived."
II.
Chi non si fida, non viene ingannato.