Oh fierie rage, when wilt thou be consum'd,
Thou that hast me consumed in such sort,
As neuer was poore wretch (which so presumed)
But for surueying of that bewteous fort?
Kep't in continuall durance, and inchayn'd
With hot desires, which haue my body pyned:
My minde from pleasures, and content restrained,
My thoughtes to care, and sorrowes ward assigned:
There, with continual melancholie placed
In dismall horror, and continuall feare
I passe these irksome howers, scorn'd and disgraced
Of her, whose crueltie no brest can beare,
No thought endure, no torture can outmatch:
Then burne on rage of fier, but me dispatch.