Sonnet XL. The common ioye, the cheere of companie

Thomas Watson (1555–1592)

THE COMMON ioye, the cheere of companie,

Twixt myrth and mone doth plague me euermore:

For pleasant talke or musicks melodie,

Yelds no such salue vnto my secret sore.

For still I liue in spight of cruell death,

And die againe in spight of lingring life:

Feede still with hope which doth prolong my breath,

But choackt with feare and strangled still with strife,

VVitnes the daies which I in dole consume,

And weary nights beare record of my woe:

O wronge full world which makst my fancie fume,

Fie fickle Fortune fie, thou art my foe.

O heauie hap so froward is my chance,

No daies nor nights nor worlds can me aduance.