End this enchantment, love, of my desires,
Let me no longer languish for thy love.
Joy not to see me thus consume in fires,
But let my cruel pains thy hard heart move.
And now, at last with pitiful regard
Eye me, thy lover, lorn for lack of thee,
Which, dying, lives in hope of sweet reward
Which hate hath hitherto withheld from me.
Constant have I been, still in fancy fast,
Ordained by heavens to dote upon thy fair;
Nor will I e'er, so long as life shall last,
Say any's fairer, breathing vital air.
But when the ocean sands shall lie unwet,
Then shall my soul to love thee, dear, forget.