Shall I strive with words to move 

When deeds receive not due regard? 

Shall I speak and neither please 

Nor be freely heard? 



Grief, alas, though all in vain, 

Her restless anguish must reveal. 

She alone my wound shall know 

Though she will not heal. 



All woes have end though awhile delayed, 

Our patience proving. 

Oh that Time's strange effects 

Could but make her loving. 



Storms calm at last, and why may not 

She leave off her frowning? 

Oh sweet Love, help her hands, 

My affecting crowning.