Complaining, alas, without redress, Thus woefully do I my life lead, My heart lamenting in heaviness, Through whose meekness I am near dead. Thus I endure always in pain, Devoid of pity, as in this case, Yet my poor heart cannot refrain; Wherefore, alas, I die, alas. So unkind, alas, saw I never none, So hard-hearted, so much without pity, As she to whom I make my moan; Wherefore, alas, I die, I die. Where I love best I am refused; Where I am loved I do not pass; Where I would fainest, I am disdained; Wherefore I die, alas, alas. Comfortless, complaining, thus I remain; Merciless, remaining without remedy; Cruelness increasing through false disdain; Pitiless remaining, alas, I die, I die. But from henceforth I hold it best Them for to love that loveth me; And then my heart shall have some rest, Where now for pain I die, I die. |