At what a happy hour and juncture see,
Orfenio comes in sight! Be ye intent,
And ye will hear him weigh his misery.
'Tis jealousy that doth his soul torment,
A very knife is jealousy, the sure
Disturber of Love's peace and Love's content.
CRISIO.
Hearken, he sings the griefs he doth endure.
ORFENIO.
Oh gloomy shadow, thou that followest
My sorrowing and confused fancy still,
Thou darkness irksome, thou that, cold and chill,
Hast ever my content and light oppressed.
When will it be that thou thy bitterest
Wrath wilt assuage, cruel monster, harpy fell?
What dost thou gain to make my joy a hell?
What bliss, that thou my bliss dost from me wrest?
But if the mood thou dost upon thee take,
Leadeth thee on to seek his life to steal,
Who life and being unto thee did give,
Methinks I should not wonder thou dost wreak
Thy will upon me, and upon my weal,
But that despite my woes, I yet do live.
OROMPO.
If the delightful mead
Is pleasant to thee as 'twas wont to be
In times that now are dead,
Come hither; thou art free
To spend the day in our sad company.