Why dost thou weep, why dost thou wail,
And know’st not yet what thou dost ail?
Come little wretch, ah silly heart,
Mine only joy; what can I more?
If there be any wrong thy smart,
That may the destinies implore;
’Twas I, I say, against my will;
I wail the time, but be thou still.
A Sweet Lullaby
(from The Arbor of Amorous Devices)