Songs

Shall I strive with words to move,
When deeds receive not due regard?
Shall I speak, and neither please,
Nor be freely heard?

Grief alas though all in vain,
Her restless anguish must reveal:
She alone my wound shall know,
Though she will not heal.

All woes have end, though awhile delayed,
Our patience proving.
O that Time’s strange effects
Could but make her loving.

Storms calm at last, and why may not she
Leave off her frowning?
O sweet love, help her hands
My affection crowning.

I wooed her, I loved her, and none but her admire.
O come dear joy, and answer my desire.