That Unkindness hath slain his poor true Heart

IF in the world there be more woe

Than I have in my heart;

Whereso it is, it doth come fro’,

And in my breast there doth it grow,

For to increase my smart.

Alas! I am receipt of every care;

And of my life each sorrow claims his part.

Who list to live in quietness

By me let him beware.

For I by high disdain

Am made without redress;

And unkindness, alas! hath slain

My poor true heart, all comfortless.