Love those beames that breede, all day long breed, and feed, this burning:
Love I quench with flouds, flouds of teares, nightly teares and mourning.
But alas teares coole this fire in vaine,
The more I quench, the more there doth remaine.
Ile goe to the woods, and alone, make my moane, oh cruell:
For I am deceiv’d and bereav’d of my life, my jewell,
O but in the woods, though Love be blinde,
Hee hath his spies, my secret haunts to finde.
Love then I must yeeld to thy might, might and spight oppressed,
Since I see my wrongs, woe is me, cannot be redressed.
Come at last, be friendly Love to me,
And let me not, endure this miserie.