The Lover sendeth Sighs to move his Suit

GO, burning sighs, unto the frozen heart,

To break the ice, which pity’s painful dart

Might never pierce: and if that mortal prayer

In heaven be heard, at least yet I desire

That death or mercy end my woful smart.

Take with thee pain, whereof I have my part,

And eke the flame from which I cannot start,

And leave me then in rest, I you require.

Go, burning sighs, fulfill that I desire,

I must go work, I see, by craft and art,

For truth and faith in her is laid apart:

Alas, I cannot therefore now assail her,

With pitiful complaint and scalding fire,

That, from my breast deceivably doth start.