From silent night, true register of moans;
From saddest soul, consumed with deepest sins;
From heart, quite rent with sighs and heavy groans;
My wailing Muse her woful work begins,
And to the world, brings tunes of sad Despair,
Sounding nought else but Sorrow, Grief, and Care.
Sorrow, to see my sorrow's cause augmented,
And yet less sorrowful were my sorrows more;
Grief, that my grief with grief is not prevented,
For grief it must ease my grieved sore.
Thus Grief and Sorrow care but how to grieve,
For Grief and Sorrow must my Care relieve.
If any eye therefore can spare a tear,
To fill the well-spring that must wet my cheeks,
O let that eye, to this sad feast draw near!
Refuse me not, my humble soul beseeks!
For all the tears mine eyes have ever wept,
Were now too little, had they all been kept.
My Heart and Tongue were Twins, at once conceived.
Th' eldest was my Heart, born dumb by destiny,
The last, my Tongue, of all sweet thoughts bereaved:
Yet strung and tuned to play Heart's harmony.
Both knit in one, and yet asunder placed:
What Heart would speak, the Tongue doth still discover;
What Tongue doth speak, is of the Heart embraced,
And both are one to make a new found lover.
New found, and only found in gods and kings,
Whose words are deeds, but words nor deeds regarded.
Chaste thoughts do mount and fly with swiftest wings!
My love with pain, my pain with loss rewarded.
Then this be sure! since it is true perfection,
That neither men nor gods can force Affection!