LVIII. Henry Peacham

THERE sits Repentance, solitarie, sad,

Herselfe beholding in a fountaine cleare,

As greeuing for the life that she hath lad;

One hand a fish, the other birch doth beare,

Wherewith her bodie she doth oft chastize,

Or fastes, to curbe her fleshly enimies.

Her solemn cheare, and gazing in the fount,

Denote her anguish and her griefe of soule,

As often as her life she doth recount,

Which conscience doth with howerly care enroule.

The willoe greene she most delights to weare,

Tells how her hope shall overcome dispaire.