O woful life! Life? No, but living d**h,
Frail boat of crystal in a rocky sea,
A sport expos'd to Fortune's stormy breath,
Which kept with pain, with terror doth decay:
The false delights, true woes thou dost bequeath,
Mine all-appalled mind do so affray,
That I those envy who are laid in earth,
And pity them that run thy dreadful way.
When did mine eyes behold one cheerful morn?
When had my tossed soul one night of rest?
When did not hateful stars my projects scorn?
O! now I find for mortals what is best;
Even, sith our voyage shameful is, and short,
Soon to strike sail, and perish in the port.