Shall I strive with words to move

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.