He bewails his hard Fate that though beloved of his Mistress he still lives in pain

I LOVE, loved; and so doth she,

And yet in love we suffer still;

The cause is strange as seemeth me,

To love so well, and want our will.

O! deadly yea! O! grievous smart!

Worse than refuse, unhappy gain!

In love who ever play’d this part,

To love so well, and live in pain.

Were ever hearts so well agreed,

Since love was love as I do trow;

That in their love so evil did speed,

To love so well, and live in woe.

Thus mourn we both, and hath done long,

With woful plaint and careful voice;

Alas! it is a grievous wrong,

To love so well, and not rejoice.

Send here an end of all our moan,

With sighing oft my breath is scant;

Since of mishap ours is alone,

To love so well, and yet to want.

But they that causers be of this,

Of all our cares God send them part;

That they may know what grief it is,

To love so well, and live in smart.