POLINA

P Romise is debt, and I my vow have passed, Andrugios Tomb, to wash with daily tears: Which Sacrifice (although God wot in waste) I will perform, my Altar is of cares. Of fuming sighs, my offering incense is, My piteous plaints, in steed of Prayers are: Yea, would to God in penance of my mys. I with the rest, my loathed life might share. But Oh in vain, I wish this welcomed end, Death is to slow, to slay the wretched wight: And all to soon, he does his forces bend, To wound their hearts, which wallow in delight. Yet in my care, Still goes, my passing Bell, So oft as I. Andrugios death do mind: So oft as men, with pointed fingers tell, Their friends, my faults, which by my weeds they find. But Oh the cause, with Death, which threats me most, I wish to die, I die through wretched woe, My dying heart, desires to yield the ghost, My trances strange, a present death foreshow. But as the read does bow at every blast. To break the same, when rowghest storms lacks might, So wretched I, with every woe do waste, Yet care wants force, to kill my heart out right. Oh gracious God and is my gilded so great. As you the same, with thousand death's must wreak? You will it so, else care I could entreat? With half these woes, my thryd of life, to break. But what meanest thou Polina, most accursed, To muse, why God, this penance joins Thee to Whose correction, although we take at worst, To our great good he does the same bestow. So that, sith grése can not relyue my friend, Sith scorching sighs my sorrows cannot dry: Sith care himself, lacks force my life to end. Sith Still I live that every hour do die: Sith mighty God appoints my penance so, In mournful song I will my patience show, A Mid my bale, the lightning joy, that pining care does bring, With patience cheers my heavy heart, as in my woes I sing, I know my Gilded, I feel my scourge: my ease is death I see: And care (I find) by piecemeal wears, my heart to set me free. Oh care, my comfort and refuge, fear not to work thy will, With patience I thy corfiues bide, feed on my life thy fill. Thy appetite with sighs and tears, I daily will procure. And wretched I, will veil to death, throw when thou wilt thy Lure. I Have at length (though weary come in troth) Obtained a fight of Iulios stately walls, A Kings message, can not be done with floth: Whom he bids goé, must run through mire and dyrt, And I am sent to Lord Promos in post. To tell him that the king will see him Straight. But much I fear that Promos needs not boast: Of any gain by his soueraygnes receipt, But Holla tongue of lavish speech beware, Though subjects oft in Princes meaning pry, They must their words, and not their minds declare. Unto which course I will my tongue apply, Lord Promos shall my princes coming know. My prince himself, the cause thereof shall show. I do, and pray the Lord, to relieve the. Polina, the happiest news of all for thee. Now, good Madame, leave of this bootless grief. Nay, first pour forth your plaints, to the powers Divine, When hate, does cloud, all worldly grace, whose mercies Still do shine. What does poor Ganie say? His words are strange. Oh. I see Andrugio. My good Andrugio?