Let all, that sweet is, void; and all, that may augment
My dole, draw near! More meet to wail my woe
Be the wild woods, my sorrows to resound,
Than bed, nor bower, both which I fill with cries,
When I them see so waste, and find no part
"Of pleasure past. Here will I dwell apart
In gastful grove therefore, till my last sleep
Do close mine eyes; so shall I not augment
With sight of such as change my restless woe.
Help me, ye baneful Birds! whose shrieking sound