The Lover describeth his restless State

AS oft as I behold, and see

The sovereign beauty that me bound;

The nigher my comfort is to me,

Alas! the fresher is my wound.

As flame doth quench by rage of fire,

And running streams consume by rain;

So doth the sight that I desire

Appease my grief, and deadly pain.

Like as the fly that see’th the flame,

And thinks to play her in the fire;

That found her woe, and sought her game

Where grief did grow by her desire.

First when I saw those crystal streams,

Whose beauty made my mortal wound;

I little thought within their beams

So sweet a venom to have found.

But wilful will did prick me forth,

Blind Cupid did me whip and guide;

Force made me take my grief in worth;

My fruitless hope my harm did hide;

Wherein is hid the cruel bit,

Whose sharp repulse none can resist;

And eke the spur that strains each wit

To run the race against his list.

As cruel waves full oft be found

Against the rocks to roar and cry;

So doth my heart full oft rebound

Against my breast full bitterly.

And as the spider draws her line,

With labour lost I frame my suit;

The fault is her’s, the loss is mine:

Of ill sown seed, such is the fruit.

I fall, and see mine own decay;

As he that bears flame in his breast,

Forgets for pain to cast away

The thing that breedeth his unrest.