Since you will needs that I shall sing, Take it in worth such as I have, Plenty of plaint, moan and mourning, In deep despair and deadly pain, Bootless for boot, crying to crave, To crave in vain. Such hammers work within my head That sound naught else unto my ears But fast at board and wake abed; Such tune the temper to my song To wail my wrong, that I want tears To wail my wrong. Death and despair afore my face, My day's decays, my grief doth grow; The cause thereof is in this place, Whom cruelty doth still constrain For to rejoice, though it be woe To hear me plain. A broken lute, untuned strings With such a song may well bear part, That neither pleaseth him that sings Nor them that hear, but her alone That with her heart would strain my heart To hear it groan. If it grieve you to hear this same That you do feel but in my voice, Consider then what pleasant game I do sustain in every part To cause me sing or to rejoice Within my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE POOR by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS DOROTHY Q; A FAMILY PORTRAIT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES TIME TO BE WISE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR FLOWERS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNET: 9 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 93 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |