Fortune my Foe, why dost thou frown on me? And will thy favours ever better be? Wilt thou, I say, for ever breed my pain? And wilt thou not restore my joys again? In vain I sigh, in vain I wail and weep; In vain my eyes refrain from quiet sleep; In vain I shed my tears both night and day; In vain my love my sorrows to bewray. Then will I place my love in Fortunes hands, My dearest love, in most unconstant bands, And only serve the sorrows due to me: Sorrow, hereafter thou shalt my Mistress be.