Sonnet XVIII. Tho with a showre of teares I entertained

Thomas Watson (1555–1592)

THO with a showre of teares I entertained,

My wounded hart into my breast accloied:

VVith thousand sundrie cares and griefes vnfained,

Vnfained griefes and cares my hart annoied.

Annoying sorrowes at my harts returning,

Assaild my thoughts with neuer ceasing horror:

That euen my hart, hart like to Ætna burning,

Did often times conspire for to abhorre her.

But enuious loue still bent to eke my morning,

A grieuous pennance for my fault inflicted:

That eies should weepe and hart be euer groaning;

So loue to worke my sorrowes was addicted.

But earths sole wonder whose eies my sense appalled,

The fault was loues, then pardon me, for loue is franticke called.