Xxi

Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans, O tears which gladly would burst out to brooks, Oh spent on fruitless sand my surging moans, Oh thoughts enthralled unto care-boding looks! Ah just laments of my unjust distress, Ah fond desires whom reason could not guide! Oh hopes of love that intimate redress, Yet prove the load-stars unto bad betide! When will you cease? Or shall pain never-ceasing, Seize oh my heart? Oh mollify your rage, Lest your assaults with over-swift increasing, Procure my death, or call on timeless age. What if they do? They shall but feed the fire, Which I have kindled by my fond desire.