| |
| SINCE you will needs that I shall sing, | |
| Take it in worth such as I have; | |
| Plenty of plaint, moan, and mourning, | |
| In deep despair and deadly pain. | |
| Bootless for boot, crying to crave; | 5 |
| To crave in vain. | |
| Such hammers work within my head | |
| That sound nought else unto my ears, | |
| But fast at board, and wake a-bed: | |
| Such tune the temper to my song | 10 |
| To wail my wrong, that I want tears | |
| To wail my wrong. | |
| Death and despair afore my face, | |
| My days decay, my grief doth grow; | |
| The cause thereof is in this place, | 15 |
| Whom cruelty doth still constrain | |
| For to rejoice, though I be woe, | |
| To hear me plain. | |
| A broken lute, untuned strings, | |
| With such a song may well bear part, | 20 |
| That neither pleaseth him that sings, | |
| Nor them that hear, but her alone | |
| That with her heart would strain my heart | |
| To hear it groan. | |
| If it grieve you to hear this same, | 25 |
| That you do feel but in my voice, | |
| Consider then what pleasant game | |
| I do sustain in every part, | |
| To cause me sing or to rejoice | |
| Within my heart. | 30 |
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