Chapter I

_Come, my Muse! If thou disdain!_
_All my comforts are bereft me!_
_No delight doth now remain;_
_I, nor friend, nor flock have left me._
_They are scattered on the plain._

_Men, alas, are too severe,_
_And make scoffs at lovers' fortunes._
_Women, hearted like the bear;_
_That regards not who importunes,_
_But doth all in pieces tear._

_If I should my sorrows shew_
_Unto rivers, springs, or fountains;_
_They are senseless to my woe:_
_So are groves, and rocks, and mountains._
_Then, O, whither shall I go?_

_Means of harbour, me to shield_
_From despair; ah, know you any?_
_For no city, grange, nor field,_
_Though they lend content to many,_
_Unto me, can comfort yield._

_I have kept, and sighèd too,_
_For Compassion to make trial;_
_Yea, done all that words can do,_
_Yet have nothing but denial._
_What way is there, then, to woo?_

_Shall I swear, protest, and vow?_
_So have I done, most extremely!_
_Should I die? I know not how!_
_For from all attempts unseemly,_
_Love and Virtue keep me now._

_I have heard that Time prevails;_
_But I fear me, 'tis a fable._
_Time, and all Endeavour fails!_
_To bear more, my heart's unable;_
_Yet none careth what it ails!_

_Lines to some, have op'ed the door_
_And got entrance for Affection._
_Words well spoken, much implore,_
_By the Gestures' good direction:_
_But a Look doth ten times more!_

_'Tis the Eye that only reads_
_To the heart, Love's deepest Lectures!_
_By a moving Look, it pleads_
_More than common Sense conjectures,_
_And a way to Pity leads._

_This I knowing, did observe;_
_Both by Words and Looks complaining:_
_Yet, for Pity I may starve!_
_There's no hope of my obtaining,_
_Till I better can deserve._

_Yea, and he that thinks to win_
_By Desert, may be deceivèd!_
_For they who have worthiest bin,_
_Of their right, have been bereavèd;_
_And a groom admitted in._

_Wherefore, Muse! to thee I call!_
_Thou, since nothing else avails me,_
_Must redeem me from my thrall!_
_If thy sweet enchantment fails me;_
_Then, adieu Love, Life, and all!_