Sleep all my joys

Sleep, all my joys, and only sorrow wake!

Let mirth to mourning, pleasures yield to plaint,

Whilst I consume in sighing for her sake

Whose loss to mind my heavy soul makes faint.

Her love my life, her lack my lingering death,

Yea, all my hopes are vanished as her breath.

Although she's dead, yet this from death she said:

I always lived and died a perfect maid.