The stricken Deare, hath helpe to heale his wounde, The haggard Hauke, + with toyle is made full tame: (15) The strongest Tower, the Canon laies on grounde, The wisest witte, that euer had the fame. was thrall to Loue, by Cupids sleightes, then way my cause, with equall weightes.
She is my ioye, she is my care and woe, (20) She is my paine, she is my ease therefore: She is my death, she is my life also, She is my salue, she is my wounded sore. In fine, she hath the hand and knife, that may both saue and end my life.
(25) And shall I liue on yearth to be her thrall? And shall I sue and serue her all in vaine? And kisse the steppes that she lets fall, And shall I pray the Gods to keepe the paine? From her, that is so cruell still, (30) No, no, on her worke all your will.
And let her feele, the power of all your might, And let her haue her most desire with speede: And let her pine away, both daie and night, And let her moue, and none lament her neede. (35) And let all those that shall her see, Despise her state, and pitie me.
Not attaining to his desire, he complayneth. +
I Am not as I seeme to be, nor when I smile, I am not glad, A thrall although you count me free, I most in mirth, most pensiue sad: I smile to shade my bitter spight, as Haniball that saw in sight, His countrie soile with Carthage towne, by Romane force defaced downe.