Waking in my bed, I wept,
And silently complain'd;
The cares that on me crept
All hope of sleepe restrain'd,

I called on my hap,
I cried on my chaunce,
Will none stand in the gap ?
Will none my state advance ?

My woe that never ends,
My want that never dies,
My state that never mends,
My soule that ever cries;

All these are but the loome
That warpeth up my death;
All these presage my doome,
The losse of later breath.

But is there not a joy
That worldly joy excels,
That helpeth all annoy,
And worldly woe expels?

There is, no doubt: God grant it me!
So shall those woes extinguisht be.