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O that this ill (death to my vitall powers)
Hardly maint ain’d amids these cruell fashions,
Springs of my late obliuion and those howers,
Which I bestow’d, and thought not of his passions:
And that the fault, that heertofore did blame me.
Causeth my paine, and with my paine doth shame me.

Hart breake in two for greefe when thought assailes thee
Of those fell torments which thou once didst lend him,
Thou lou’st him now, but little it preuailes thee
To pardon that, wherewith thou didst offend him.
Who cried once for that which now I crie for,
And died once for that which now I die for.

These present greefes of passions that confound me
With ceaselesse paine, torment not in such measure,
As thoughts of my late crueltie doe wound me,
Or when I thinke, I lost so deere a treasure:
For they are heauen, to thinke that now I prize him,
And these are hell, to thinke I did despise him.

For if my little loue (more fitly named
Iniurious hate) (whereof I now repent me)
Were not in fault (alas too lately blamed)
Of all these present greefes, that thus torment me;
Then with complaints I would not cease t’importune
Vngentle loue, and raile on cruell Fortune.

But I so proude for my admired beautie
That flattred me, of sense was so bereaued,
That carelesse of my fault, and forced dutie
I owde to Loue, I neuer once perceaued,
That Loue did take reuengement at his pleasure,
And Fortune change without all meane or measure.

But Loues reuenge wrought neuer such a woonder,
Nor to so great despaire did euer driue one,
As thus on euery side to breake a sunder,
And ruinate a hope that might reuiue one:
And Fortune in her change made neuer any
So great, as from one life to deathes so many.

Syrenus then, how art thou now assured
Of thy reuenge, which thou hast deepely taken
In my disgrace, which I my selfe procured:
That since of late my loue thou hast forsaken,
No remedie for any greefe is left me,
That of my woonted comfort hath bereft me.

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