Sad eyes, what do you ail
To be thus ill disposed?
Why doth your steeping fail,
When all men's else are closed?
Was't I, who ne'er did bow
In any servile duty;
And will you make me now
A slave to love and beauty?

What though thy mistress smile,
And in her love affects thee?
Let not her eye beguile,
I hear she disrespects thee.
Do not, poor heart, depend
On those vain thoughts that fill thee;
Thev'll fail thee in the end,
So must thy passions kill thee.

What hopes have I that she
Will hold her favours ever,
When so few women be
That constant can persever?
Whate'er she do protest,
When fortunes do deceive me,
Then she, with all the rest.
I fear, alas! will leave me.

Whilst youth and strength remain,
With art that may commend her;
Perhaps she'll not disdain
Her servant should attend her;
But it is one to ten,
If crosses overtake me,
She will not know me then,
But scorn and so forsake me.

Shall then in earnest truth
My careful eyes observe her?
Shall I consume my youth,
And short my time to serve her?
Shall I beyond my strength
Let passion's torments prove me,
To hear her say at length,
Away, I cannot love thee?

Oh, rather let me die,
Whilst I thus gentle find her;
'Twere worse than death if I
Should find she proves unkinder
One frown, though but in jest,
Or one unkindness feigned,
Would rob me of more rest
Than ere could be regained.

But in her eyes I find
Such sighs of pity moving,
She cannot be unkind,
Nor err, nor fail in loving;
And on her forehead this
Seems written to relieve me;
My heart no joy shall miss,
That love, or she, can give me

Which, if I find, I vow
My service shall persever;
The same that I am now,
I will continue ever.
No other's high degree,
No beauteous look shall change me;
My love shall constant be,
And no estate estrange me.

When other noble dames,
By greater men attended,
Shall with their lives and names
Have all their glories ended;
With fairest queens shall she
Sit, sharing equal glory,
And times to come shall be
Delighted with our story.

In spite of others' hates,
More honours I will do her
Than those that with estates
And helps of fortune woo her.
Yea, that true worth I spy,
Though monarchs strove to grace it,
They should not reach more high
Than I dare hope to place it.

And though I never vaunt
What favours are possessed,
Much less content I want,
Than if they were expressed.
Let others make their mirth
To blab each kiss or toying;
I know no bliss on earth
Like secret love enjoying.

And this shall be the worst
Of all that can betide me;
If I, like some accurst,
Should find my hopes deride me,
My cares will not be long,
I know which way to mend them;
I'll think who did the wrong,
Sigh, break my heart, and end them.