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19

Sweet shades, why doe you seeke to giwe delight
To me, who deeme delight in this wilde place:
But torment, sorrow, and mine owne disgrace,
To taste of joy, or your vaine pleasing sight?
Show them your pleasures who saw never night
Of griefe, where joyings fawning smiling face
Appears as day, where griefe found never space:
Yet for a sigh, a groane, or envies spite.
But O: on me a world of woes doe lye,
Or els on me all harmes strive to relye,
And to attend like servants bound to me.
Heate in desire, while frosts of care I prove,
Wanting my love, yet surfet doe with love,
Burne, and yet freeze, better in Hell to be.
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