Happy in sleep, waking content to languish,
Embracing clouds by night; in daytime, mourn;
All things I loath save her and mine own anguish,
Pleas'd in my hurt inured to live forlorn.
Nought do I crave but love, death, or my Lady,
Hoarse with crying mercy, mercy yet my merit;
So man vows and prayers e'er made I,
That now at length t'yield, mere pity were it.
But still the Hydra of my cares renewing,
Revives new sorrows of her fresh disdaining;
Still must I go the summer winds pursuing,
Finding no end nor period of my paining.
Wail all my life, my griefs do touch so nearly,
And thus I live, because I love her dearly.