[bee You All Pleas'D, Your Pleasures Grieve Not Me] Poem by Mary Wroth

Bee you all pleas'd, your pleasures grieve not me;
Doe you delight? I envy not your joy:
Have you content? contentment with you be;
Hope you for blisse? Hope still, and still enjoy.
Let sad misfortune, haplesse me destroy,
Leave crosses to rule me, and still rule free:
While all delights their contraries imploy,
To keepe good backe, and I but torments see.
Joyes are bereau'd me, harmes doe only tarry,
Despaire takes place, disdaine hath gott the hand:
Yet firme love holds my senses in such band,
As (since dispis'ed) I with sorrow marry.
Then if with griefe I now must coupled bee,
Sorrow Ile wed; Despaire thus governes mee.