All Night I weepe, all Day I cry, Ay me,
I still doe wish, though yet deny, ay me;
I sigh, I mourne, I say that still,
I only am the store for ill, ay me.

In coldest hopes I freeze, yet burne, ay me,
From flames I strive to fly, yet turne, ay me:
From griefe I hast, but sorrowes hye,
And on my heart all woes do lye, ay me.

From contraries I seeke to run, ay me,
But contraries I cannot shun, ay me:
For they delight their force to trye,
And to Despaire my thoughts doe ty, ay me.

Whither alasse then shall I goe, ay me,
When as Despaire all hopes outgoe, ay me:
If to the Forrest Cupid hies,
And my poore soule to his law tyes, ay me.

To the Court: O no. He cryes fye, ay me,
There no true love you shall espy, ay me:
Leave that place to falsest Lovers,
Your true love all truth discovers, ay me,
Then quiet rest, and no more prove, ay me,
All places are alike to Love, ay me:
And constant be in this begun,
Yet say, till Life with Love be dunn Ay me.