Sonnet LVII. The hunted Hare sometime doth leaue the Hound

Thomas Watson (1555–1592)

THE HUNTED Hare sometime doth leaue the Hound,

My Hart alas is neuer out of chace:

The liue-hounds life sometime is yet vnbound,

My bands are hopeles of so high a grace.

For natures sickenes sometimes may haue ease,

Fortune though fickle sometime is a friend:

The minds affliction patience may appease,

And death is cause that many torments end.

Yet I am sicke, but shee that should restore me,

VVithholds the sacred flame that would recure me:

And fortune eke (though many eyes deplore me,)

Nill lend such chance that might to ioy procure me.

Patience wants power to appease my weeping,

And death denies what I haue long beene seeking.