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A Handful of Pleasant Delights/A sorrowfull Sonet, made by M. George Mannington, at Cambridge Castle

A sorrowfull Sonet, made by M. George Mannington, at Cambridge Castle.

To the tune of Labandala Shot.

I Waile in wo, I plunge in pain,
with sorowing sobs, I do complain,
With wallowing waues I wish to die,
I languish sore whereas I lie,
In feare I faint in hope I holde,
With ruthe I runne, I was too bolde:
As lucklesse lot assigned me,
in dangerous dale of destinie:
Hope bids me smile, Feare bids me weep,
My seelie soule thus Care doth keep.

Yea too too late I do repent,
the youthful yeares that I haue spent,
The retch lesse race of carelesse kinde,
which hath betwitcht my woful minde.
Such is the chaunce, such is the state,
Of those that trust too much to fate.
No bragging boast of gentle blood,
What so he be, can do thee good:
No wit, no strength, nor beauties hue,
No friendly sute can death eschue.

The dismall day hath had his wil,
And iustice seekes my life to spill:
Reuengement craues by rigorous law,
Whereof I little stood in awe:
The dolefull doom to end my life,
Bedect with care and worldlie strife:
And frowning iudge hath giuen his doome.
O gentle death thou art welcome:
The losse of life, I do not feare,
Then welcome death, the end of care.

O prisoners poore, in dungeon deep,
Which passe the night in slumbring sleep:
Wel may you rue your youthful race.
And now lament your cursed cace.
Content your selfe with your estate,
Impute no shame to fickle fate:
With wrong attempts, increase no wealth,
Regard the state of prosperous health:
And think on me, when I am dead:
Whom such delights haue lewdly led.

My friend and parents, where euer you be
Full little do you thinke on me:
My mother milde, and dame so deer:
Thy louing childe, is fettred heer:
Would God I had, I wish too late,
Been bred and borne of meaner estate:
Or else, would God my rechlesse eare,
Had been obedient for to heare,
Your sage aduice and counsel true:
But in the Lord parents adue.

You valiant hearts of youthfull train,
Which heard my heauie heart complain:
A good example take by me,
Which runne the race where euer you be:
trust not too much to bilbow blade,
nor yet to fortunes fickle trade.
Hoist not your sailes no more in winde,
Least that some rocke, you chaunce to finde,
or else be driuen to Lybia land,
whereas the Barque may sinck in sand.

You students all that present be,
To view my fatall destinie,
would God I could requite your pain,
wherein you labour, although in vain,
if mightie God would think it good,
to spare my life and vitall blood,
For this your profered curtesie,
I would remaine most stedfastly,
Your seruant true in deed and word,
But welcome death as please the Lord.

Yea welcome death, the end of woe,
And farewell life, my fatall foe:
Yea welcome death, the end of strife,
Adue the care of mortall life,
For though this life doth fleet away,
In heauen I hope to liue for ay:
A place of ioy and perfect rest,
Which Christ hath purchaste for the best:
Til that we meet in heauen most hiest:
Adue, farewell in Iesu Christ.