Love those beames that breede, all day long breed, and feed, this burning: Love I quench with flouds, flouds of teares, nightly teares and mourning. But alas teares coole this fire in vaine, The more I quench, the more there doth remaine. Ile goe to the woods, and alone, make my moane, oh cruell: For I am deceiv'd and bereav'd of my life, my jewell, O but in the woods, though Love be blinde, Hee hath his spies, my secret haunts to finde. Love then I must yeeld to thy might, might and spight oppressed, Since I see my wrongs, woe is me, cannot be redressed. Come at last, be friendly Love to me, And let me not, endure this miserie.