What greater griefe then no reliefe in deepest woe death is no friend that will not end such harts sorrow helpe I do crie, no helpe is nie, but winde and aire, which to and fro do tosse and blow all to dispaire, sith then dispaire I, must yet may not die no man unhapier lives on earth then I.
Tis I that feele the scornefull heele of dismall hate, My gaine is lost, my losse cleere cost repentance late, So I must mone bemonde of none,to leave mee, Death be my friend with speed to end and quiet all. But if thou linger in dispaire to leave mee, He kill dispaire with hope, and so deceive thee.