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.