Weary With Serving Where I Nought Could Get, Poem by Richard Lynche

Weary with serving where I nought could get,
I thought to cross great Neptune's greatest seas,
To live in exile; but my drift was let
By cruel fortune, spiteful of such ease.
The ship I had to pass in was my mind,
Greedy desire was topsail of the same,
My tears were surges, sighs did serve for wind,
Of all my ship despair was chiefest frame;
Sorrow was master; care, the cable rope;
Grief was the mainmast; love, the captain of it;
He that did rule the helm was foolish hope;
But beauty was the rock that my ship split,
Which since bath made such shipwreck of my joy
That still I swim in th' ocean of annoy.