Ere yet on earth I came, methinks e'en then
Misfortune, pain, and misery, were mine.
ORFENIO.
In me divine the greatest of ill-fortune.
CRISIO.
Thy ill is fortune, when to mine compared.
MARS.
When it is paired with my mysterious ill,
The wound that kills you is but glory plain.
OROMPO.
This tangled skein will soon be very clear,
When bright and clear my grief it doth reveal.
Let none conceal the pain his breast within,
For I the tale of mine do now begin.
In good ground my hopes were sown,
Goodly fruit they promised then,
But when their desire was known,
And their willingness was shown,
Heaven changed their fruit to pain.
I beheld their wondrous flower,
Eager happiness to shower
On me—thousand proofs it gave—
Death that envious did it crave
Plucked it in that very hour.