BEAUTY is but a painted hell: Ay me, ay me! She wounds them that admire it, She kills them that desire it. Give her pride but fuel, No fire is more cruel. Pity from every heart is fled: Ay me, ay me! Since false desire could borrow Tears of dissembled sorrow, Constant vows turn truthless, Love cruel, Beauty ruthless. Sorrow can laugh, and Fury sing: Ay me, ay me! My raving griefs discover I lived too true a lover. The first step to madness Is the excess of sadness. |