One sitting in dolefull dumpes by himselfe alone, thinking to haue written some dolorous discourse, was let by occasion: and so, for want of time, wrote but onely sixe lynes, and left them vnfinished: the verses were these. (I like them, and therefore thought good to place them among other imperfections.)
M Y hand here houering stands
to write some prety toye,
My mourning mind for to delight
y t wants all worldly ioye:
And Fancy offereth eke,
fyne toyes for to indite vpon
To comfort thus my heauy heart
that is thus woe begon
But all in vaine: for why?
my minde is so opprest with greefe
As all the pleasures in this world
can lend me no releefe