Madrigal: My thoughts hold mortal strife

My thoughts hold mortal strife;

I do detest my life,

And with lamenting cries

Peace to my soul to bring

Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize:

-- But he, grim grinning King,

Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,

Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb,

Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.