A Spenserian sonnet.
Samuel Egerton Brydges: "A few poets, both old and modern, have shewn that they can manage [the sonnet] with skill and facility. Perhaps none better than the present Lord Thurlow, who has caught the true spirit of Spenser's best sonnets; and the very modulation of his language, without servility, or the smallest appearance of affectation" British Bibliographer 4 (1814) 5.
Yet I am weary of this restless woe,
This hubbub in the empire of the air,
That storm on storm doth still engender so,
As if the skies were never to be fair;
Forsooth the Earth, that is to ruin heir,
'Gin to avise her ancient heritage,
And, having wrestled long with blust'ring care,
In shaking with infirmity of age:
Or, otherwise, let this alternate stage
Pass to sweet mirth from woeful tragedy;
Too long it has been rent with warlike rage,
Lacking the softer voice of comedy:
In timely change our true affections lie;
Grief without end will make e'en Virtue die!
[Appendix, p. 65]