If pleasures be in painfulness, in pleasures doth my body rest,
If joyes accord with carefulness, a joyful hart is in my brest:
If prison strong be liberty, in liberty long have I been,
If joyes accord with misery, who can compare a lyfe to myne:
Who can unbind that is sore bound? who can make free yet is sore thrall,
Or how can any means be found to comfort such a wretch withall?
None can but he yet hath my hart, convert my pains to comfort then,
Yet since his servant I became, most like a bondman have I been:
Since first in bondage I became, my word and deed was ever such,
That never once he could me blame, except for loving him too much.
Which I can judge no just offence, nor cause that I deserved disdayne,
Except he mean through false pretense, through forgèd love to make a trayne.
Nay, nay, alas, my fainèd thoughts my freded and my fainèd ruth,
My pleasures past, my present plaints, shew well I mean but to much truth:
But since I can not him attain, against my will I let him goe,
And lest he glorie at my pain, I wyl attempt to cloke my woe.
Youth learne by me but do not prove, for I have provèd to my pain,
What greeuous greefes do grow by love, and what it is to love in vaine.