59 Poem by Mary Wroth

I that am of all most crost,
Having, and that had have lost,
May with reason thus complaine,
Since love breeds love, and loves paine.

That which I did most desire,
To allay my loving fire,
I may have, yet now must misse,
Since another Ruler is.

Would that I no Ruler had,
Or the service not so bad,
Then might I with blis enjoy
That which now my hopes destroy.

And that wicked pleasure got,
Brings with it the sweetest lot:
I that must not taste the best,
Fed, must starve, and restlesse rest.