| |
| IF any hath the heart to kill, | |
| Come rid me of this woeful pain! | |
| For while I live I suffer still | |
| This cruel torment all in vain: | |
| Yet none alive but one can guess | 5 |
| What is the cause of my distress. | |
| |
| Thanks be to heaven, no grievous smart, | |
| No maladies my limbs annoy; | |
| I bear a fond and sprightful heart, | |
| Yet live I quite deprived of joy; | 10 |
| Since what I had in vain I crave, | |
| And what I had not now I have. | |
| |
| A love I had, so fair, so sweet, | |
| As ever wanton eye did see: | |
| Once by appointment we did meet: | 15 |
| She would, but ah, it would not be! | |
| She gave her heart, her hand she gave; | |
| All did I give, she nought could have. | |
| |
| What hag did then my powers forespeak, | |
| That never yet such taint did feel! | 20 |
| Now she rejects me as one weak, | |
| Yet am I all composed of steel. | |
| Ah, this is it my heart doth grieve: | |
| Now though she sees, she’ll not believe. | |
| |
