Woe am I, my heart dies As that which on thy will relies. Since then I die, only in hope to please thee, No grief of death, though cruel, shall disease me. Yet shall I be tormented, Cruel, to see thee pleas'd and contented.
Woe am I, my heart dies As that which on thy will relies. Since then I die, only in hope to please thee, No grief of death, though cruel, shall disease me. Yet shall I be tormented, Cruel, to see thee pleas'd and contented.