Farewell to the Court

My lost delights, now clean from sight of land,

Have left me all alone in unknown ways;

My mind to woe, my life in fortune's hand —

Of all which pass'd the sorrow only stays.

As in a country strange, without companion,

I only wail the wrong of death's delays,

Whose sweet spring spent, whose summer well-nigh done —

Of all which pass'd only the sorrow stays.

Whom care forewarns, ere age and winter cold,

To haste me hence to find my fortune's fold.