How long shall this

How long shall this like dying life endure,

And know no end of her own miserie?

But waste and weare away in termes unsure.

Twixt feare and hope depending doubtfully:

Yet better were att once to let me die,

And shew the last ensample of your pride

Then to torment me thus with crueltie,

To prove your powre, which I too well have tride.

But yet if in your hardned brest ye hide

A close intent at last to shew me grace,

Then all the woes and wrecks which I abide,

As meanes of blis I gladly will embrace,

And wish that more and greater they might be.

That greater meed at last may turne to me.