English

False Hope prolongs my euer certaine griefe,
Traitour to me, and faithfull to my Loue:
A thousand times it promis'd me reliefe,
Yet neuer any true effect I proue
Ost when I finde in her no truth at all,
I banish her, and blame her trechery,
Yet soone againe I must her backe recall,
As one that dies without her company.
Thus often as I chase my hope from me,
Straight-way she hasts her vnto D ELIAS eies:
Fed with some pleasing looke there shall she be,
And so sent backe, and thus my fortune lies.

These sorrowing sighes, the smoake of mine annoy,
These teares, which heate of sacred flame distils,
Are those due tributes that my faith doth pay
Vnto the tyrant, whose vnkindnes kils.
I sacrifise my youth, and blooming yeares
At her proud feete, and she respects not it;
My flower vntimely's withred with my teares:
And Winter woes, for spring of youth vnfit.
She thinkes a looke may recompence my care,
And so with lookes, prolongs my long-lookt ease,
As short that blisse, so is the comfort rare,

Time, cruell time, come and subdue that Brow
Which conquers all but thee, and thee too staies
As if she were exempt from Syeth or Bow,
From loue or yeares vnsubiect to decaies.
Or art thou growne in league with those faire eies
That they may helpe thee to consume our daies?
Or dost thou spare her for her cruelties,
Being merciles like thee that no man weies?
And yet thou seest thy powre she disobayes,
Cares not for thee, but lets thee waste in vaine,
And prodigall of howers and yeares betraies

Come Time the anchor-hold of my desire,
My last Resort whereto my hopes appeale,
Cause once the date of her disdaine t'expire:
Make her the sentence of her wrath repeale.
Rob her faire Brow, breake in on Beauty, steale
Powre from those eyes, which pitty cannot spare:
Deale with those dainty cheekes as she doth deale
With this poore heart consumed with dispaire.
This heart made now the prospectiue of care,
By louing her, the cruelst Faire that liues,
The cruelst Fayre that sees I pine for her,

If beauty thus be clowded with a frowne,
That pitty shines no comfort to my blis,
And vapours of disdaine so ouergrowne
That my liues light wholy in-darkned is.
Why should I more molest the world with cries?
The ayre with sighes, the earth below with teares?
Sith I liue hatefull to those ruthlesse eies,
Vexing with vntun'd moane her dainty eares.
If I haue lou'd her dearer then my breath,
My breath that calls the heauens to witnes it:
And still must hold her deare till after death,

VVhat it is to breathe and liue without life:
How to be pale with anguish, red with feare,
T'haue peace abroad, and nought within but strife:
Wish to be present, and yet shun t'appeare:
How to be bold far off, and bashfull neare:
How to thinke much, and haue no words to speake:
To craue redresse, yet hold affliction deare:
To haue affection strong, a body weake,
Neuer to finde, and euermore to seeke:
And seeke that which I dare not hope to finde:
T'affect this life, and yet this life disleeke:

Restore thy tresses to the golden Ore,
Yeeld Cithereas sonne those Arkes of loue;
Bequeath the heauens the starres that I adore,
And to th'Orient do thy Pearles remoue,
Yeeld thy hands pride vnto th'Iuory white,
T' Arabian odors giue thy breathing sweete:
Restore thy blush vnto Aurora bright,
To Thetis giue the honour of thy feete.
Let Venus haue thy graces, her resign'd,

Since the first looke that led me to this error,
To this thoughts-maze, to my confusion tending:
Still haue I liu'd in griefe, in hope, in terror,
The circle of my sorrowes neuer ending.
Yet cannot leaue her loue that holds me hatefull,
Her eyes exact it, though her hart disdaines me;
See what reward he hath that serues the vngratefull,
So true and loyall loue no fauour gaines me.
Still must I whet my yong desires abated,
Vpon the flint of such a hart rebelling;
And all in vaine, her pride is so innated,

VVhy should I sing in verse, why should I frame
These sad neglected notes for her deare sake?
Why should I offer vp vnto her name,
The sweetest sacrifice my youth can make?
Why should I striue to make her liue for euer,
That neuer deignes to giue me ioy to liue?
Why should m'afflicted Muse so much endeuour,
Such honour vnto cruelty to giue?
If her defects haue purchast her this fame,
What should her vertues do, her smiles, her loue?
If this her worst, how should her best inflame?

Happy in sleepe, waking content to languish,
Imbracing clouds by night, in day time mourne,
My ioys but shadowes, touch of truth, my anguish,
Griefes euer springing, comforts neuer borne.
And still expecting when she will relent,
Growne hoarce with crying mercy, mercy giue,
So many vowes, and praiers hauing spent,
That weary of my life, I loath to liue.
And yet the Hydra of my cares renues
Still new borne sorrowes of her fresh disdaine:
And still my hope the Sommer windes pursues,
Finding no end nor period of my paine.