Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans,
O tears which gladly would burst out to brooks,
Oh spent on fruitless sand my surging moans,
Oh thoughts enthralled unto care-boding looks!
Ah just laments of my unjust distress,
Ah fond desires whom reason could not guide!
Oh hopes of love that intimate redress,
Yet prove the load-stars unto bad betide!
When will you cease? Or shall pain never-ceasing,
Seize oh my heart? Oh mollify your rage,
Lest your assaults with over-swift increasing,
Procure my death, or call on timeless age.
What if they do? They shall but feed the fire,
Which I have kindled by my fond desire.