The cleere is turnd to clouds; the day to night;
And all my hope, and all my ioy is gone:
Bounty is dead, the cause of my annoy;
Bounty is dead, and with her dide my ioy.
O who can comfort my afflicted soule?
Or adde some ende to my increasing sorrowes?
Who can deliuer me from endlesse dole?
(Which from my hart eternall torment borrowes.)
When Bounty liu'd, I bore the Bell away;
When Bounty dide, my credit did decay.