I SPEAK, fair LICIA, what my torments be;
But then my speech too partial do I find:
For hardly words can with those thoughts agree:
Those thoughts that swarm in such a troubled mind.
Then do I vow my tongue shall never speak,
Nor tell my grief that in my heart doth lie:
But, cannon-like, I, then surcharged, do break.
And so my silence worse than speech I try.
Thus speech, or none, they both do breed my care:
I live dismayed and kill my heart with grief.
In all respects my case alike doth fare.
To him that wants; and dares not ask relief.
Then you, fair LICIA, Sovereign of my heart,
Read to yourself my anguish and my smart!