Comments about Mary Wroth
14 (Song 2)
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.