All ye whom love or fortune hath betrayed,
All ye, that dream of bliss but live in grief,
All ye, whose hopes are ever more delay’d,
All ye, whose sighs or sickness wants relief;
Lend ears and tears to me most hapless man,
That sings my sorrows like the dying Swann.
Care that consumes the heart with inward pain,
Pain that presents sad care in outward view,
Both tyrant-like enforce me to complain;
But still in vain : for none my plaints will rue.
Tears sighs and ceaseless cries alone I spend:
My woe wants comfort, and my sorrow end.