Mary Wroth
Like to huge clouds of smoke which well may hide
The face of fairest day, though for a while,
So wrongs may shadow me, till truth do smile,
And justice (sun-like) hath those vapours tried.
O doting Time, canst thou for shame let slide
So many minutes while ills do beguile
Thy age, and worth, and falsehoods thus defile
Thy ancient good, where now but crosses 'bide,
Look once but up, and leave thy toiling pace,
And on my miseries thy dim eyes place.
Go not so fast, but give my care some end.
Turn not thy glass (alas) unto my ill,
Since thou with sand it cannot so far fill
But to each one my sorrows will extend.