LII. Edward Hake

WAKING in my bed, I wept,

And silently complain’d;

The cares that on me crept

All hope of sleepe restrain’d,

I called on my hap,

I cried on my chaunce,

Will none stand in the gap?

Will none my state advance?

My woe that never ends,

My want that never dies,

My state that never mends,

My soule that ever cries;

All these are but the loome

That warpeth up my death;

All these presage my doome,

The losse of later breath.

But is there not a joy

That worldly joy excels,

That helpeth all annoy,

And worldly woe expels?

There is, no doubt: God grant it me!

So shall those woes extinguisht be.