Alas, what a wretched life

Alas, what a wretched life is this,

Nay what a death,

Where the tyrant, Love, commandeth.

My flowring days are in their prime declining,

All my proud hope, quite fallen, and life untwining:

My joys each after other in haste are flying

And leave me dying for her that scorns my crying.

O she from hence departs, my Love refraining,

For whom, all heartless, alas, I die complaining.