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Poem	SInce I did leaue the presence of my loue, Many long weary dayes I haue outworne: and many nights, that slowly seemd to moue, theyr sad protract from euening vntill morne. For when as day the heauen doth adorne, I wish that night the noyous day would end: and when as night hath vs of light forlorne, I wish that day would shortly reascend. Thus I the time with expectation spend, and faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile, that further seemes his terme still to extend, and maketh euery minute seeme a myle. So sorrow still doth seeme too long to last, but ioyous houres doo fly away too fast.
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