Sonnet XXVIII. Weary with serving, where I naught could get

Richard Linche (fl. 1596–1601)

WEARY with serving, where I naught could get;

I thought to cross great NEPTUNE’s greatest seas,

To live in exile: but my drift was let

by cruel Fortune, spiteful of such ease.

The ship I had to pass in, was my Mind;

greedy Desire was topsail of the same,

My Tears were surges, Sighs did serve for wind,

of all my ship, Despair was chiefest frame;

Sorrow was Master, Care, the cable rope;

Grief was the mainmast, Love, the captain of it;

He that did rule the helm was foolish Hope,

but Beauty was the rock that my ship split,

Which since hath made such shipwreck of my Joy,

That still I swim in th’ ocean of Annoy.