Which all too long thyself in vain hath wasted.
Let it suffice I still must live opprest;
And of my pains, the fruit must ne'er be tasted.
Then sleep, my Muse! "Fate cannot be withstood."
"It's better sleep; than wake, and do no good."
XLVI.
Why should I love, since She doth prove ungrateful:
Since, for reward, I reap nought but disdain.
Love thus to be requited, it is hateful!
And Reason would, I should not love in vain.