No grief is like to mine, Which naught but death can swage. My help is hurt; my weal is woe; My rest is ruthless rage. My comfort is my care; My safety shipwreck is. My medicine is my misery, And bale is all my bliss. Farewell, my friendly foe! Pandolpho proud, farewell! Farewell the causer of my woe! I love, and loathe to live, I live and long to die. Come death, dispatch her life, She yield, to die; Come death, dispatch her life, She doth desire to die.
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