Since fortune’s wrath envieth the wealth
Since fortune’s wrath envieth the wealth
Wherein I reigned, by the sight
Of that, that fed mine eyes by stealth
With sour, sweet, dread, and delight;
Let not my grief move you to moan,
For I will weep and wail alone.
Spite drave me into Boreas’ reign,
Where hoary frosts the fruits do bite,
When hills were spread, and every plain
With stormy winter’s mantle white;
And yet, my dear, such was my heat,
When others froze, then did I sweat.
And now, though on the sun I drive,
Whose fervent flame all things decays;
His beams in brightness may not strive
With light of your sweet golden rays;
Nor from my breast his heat remove
The frozen thoughts, graven by Love.
Ne may the waves of the salt flood
Quench that your beauty set on fire;
For though mine eyes forbear the food,
That did relieve the hot desire;
Such as I was, such will I be;
Your own; what would ye more of me?
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