The Lover compareth his State to a Ship in perilous Storm tossed on the Sea

MY galley charged with forgetfulness,

Through sharp seas, in winter nights, doth pass

’Tween rock and rock; and eke my foe, alas,

That is my lord, steereth with cruelness:

And every hour, a thought in readiness,

As though that death were light in such a case.

An endless wind doth tear the sail apace

Of forced sighs and trusty fearfulness;

A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain,

Have done the wearied cords great hinderance:

Wreathed with error, and with ignorance;

The stars be hid that lead me to this pain;

Drown’d is reason that should be my comfort,

And I remain, despairing of the port.