The grief whereof, how near it went,
And how unkindly took,
Was figured by the discontent
Appearing in his look.
At first, he could not silence break,
So heavy sorrow lay;
But when his sighs gave way to speak,
Thus, sadly, did he say.
"My only Dear!" and with that speech,
Not able to sustain
The floods of grief at sorrow's breach,
He paused awhile again.
At length, nigh fainting, did express
These words, with much ado,
"O Dear! Let not my love's excess,
Me, and my love undo!"
She, little movèd with his pain,
His much distraction eyed;
And changing love into disdain,
Thus, still unkind, replied.
"Forbear to urge one kindness more!
Unless you long to see
The good respect you had before,
At once, all lost in me!"
With that dismayed, his suit he ceased,
And down his head he hung;
And as his Reason's strength decreased,
His Passion grew more strong.
But seeing she did slight his moan;
With willow garlands wreathed,
He sate him down, and all alone,
This sad complaint he breathed.
"O Heavens!" quoth he, "Why do we spend
Endeavours thus in vain?
Since what the Fates do fore-intend
They never change again.
Nor Faith, nor Love, nor true Desert,
Nor all that man can do,
Can win him place within her heart,
That is not born thereto!"
"Why do I fondly waste my youth
In secret sighs and tears?
Why to preserve a spotless truth,
Taste I, so many cares?
For women that no worth respect,
Do so ungentle prove;
That some shall win by their neglect,
What others lose with love."
"Those that have set the best at naught,
And no man could enjoy;
At last, by some base gull are caught,
And gotten with a toy.
Yea, they that spend an Age's light,
Their favours to obtain;
For one unwilling oversight,
May lose them all again!"
"How glad, and fain, alas, would I,
For her, have underwent
The greatest care, ere she should try
The smallest discontent?
Yet She, that may my life command,
And doth those Passions know!
Denieth me a poor demand,
In height of all my woe."
"O, if the Noblest of her time,
And best beloved of me:
Could for so poor, so slight a crime
So void of pity be!
Sure, had it been some common one,
Whose patience I had tried;
No wonder I had been undone,
Or unforgiven, died!"
"A thousand lives I would have laid!
(So well I once believed)
She would have deigned to lend me aid
If she had seen me grieved.
But now, I live to see the day,
When I presumèd so,
I neither dare for pity pray,
Nor tell her of my woe!"