O softly drop, mine eyes

Softly, O softly drop, mine eyes, lest you be dry,

and make my heart with grief to melt and die.

Now pour our tears apace,

now stay, O heavy case,

O sour-sweet woe, alas, alas,

O grief, O joy, why strive you so?

Can pains and joys at once in one poor heart consent?

Then sigh and sing, rejoice, lament.

Ay me, ay me, O passions strange and violent!

Was never poor wretch so sore tormented?

Nor joy nor grief can make my heart contented:

for while wjth joy I look on high,

down, down I fall with grief and die.