If
my Complaints
If
my complaints could passions move,
or make love see wherein I suffer wrong.
My passions were enough to prove,
that my despair had governed me too long.
Oh
love I live and die in thee,
thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks.
Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me,
my heart for thy unkindness breaks.
Yet
thou dost hope when I despair,
and when I hope thou makst me hope in vain.
Thou sayest thou canst my harms repair,
yet for redress thou letst me still complain.
Can
love be rich and yet I want?
Is love my judge and yet am I condemned?
Thou plenty hast yet me dost scant,
thou made a god and yet thy power contemned.
That
I do live it is thy power,
that I desire it is thy worth.
If love doth make men’s lives to sour,
let me not love, nor live henceforth.
Die
shall my hopes but not my faith,
that you that of my fall may hearers be.
May hear despair which truly saith,
I was more true to love than love to me. |