He woefully 'gan to complain;
Such were the accents as might wound,
And tear a diamond rock in twain.
After his throbs did somewhat stay,
Thus heavily he 'gan to say.
"O sun!" said he, seeing the sun,
"On wretched me, why dost thou shine?
My star is fallen, my comfort done;
Out is the apple of my eyen.
Shine upon those possess delight,