No soule so comfortlesse,
Hath more cause to expresse,
Like woe and heavinesse,
As I poore amorous Maide.

He that did forme the Heavens and every Starre,
Made me as best him pleased,
Lovely and gracious, no Element at jarre,
Or else in gentle breasts to moove sterne Warre,
But to have strifes appeased
Where Beauties eye should make the deepest scarre.
And yet when all things are confest,
Never was any soule distrest,
Like my poore amorous Maide.

No soule so comfortlesse, etc.

There was a time, when once I was held deare,
Blest were those happy dayes:
Numberlesse Love suites whispred in mine eare,
All of faire hope, but none of desperate feare;
And all sung Beauties praise.
Why should blacke cloudes obscure so bright a cleare?
And why should others swimme in joy,
And no heart drowned in annoy,
Like mine poore amorous Maide?

No soule so comfortlesse, etc.

Well may I curse that sad and dismall day,
When in unkinde exchange;
Another Beauty did my hopes betray,
And stole my dearest Love from me away:
Which I thought very strange,
Considering vowes were past, and what else may
Assure a loyall Maidens trust.
Never was Lover so unjust,
Like mine poore amorous Maide.

No soule so comfortlesse, etc.

Come then kinde Death, and finish all my woes,
Thy helpe is now the best.
Come lovely Nymphes, lend hands mine eyes to close,
And let him wander wheresoere he goes,
Vaunting of mine unrest;
Beguiling others by his treacherous showes.
Grave on my Monument,
No true love was worse spent,
Then mine poore amorous Maide.

No soule so comfortlesse, etc.